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Weekly Contest #265
A blur of a figure takes a seat in front of Charlotte just as the bus shudders and lurches to go. This is why they told us to be here fifteen minutes ago. She thinks with a roll of her eyes. Charlotte McFadden has always had a warm regard for schedules.By the time her vision has returned from the ceiling, the tardy man, now seated in front of her, has scooted in by the window seat and casually rests his plaid-sleeved arm across the old bench seat. He is alone, like she is. His shoulders rise and fall as he catches his breath. Warmth radiates...
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