Shelly's a thief.
I spot her hopping the jersey barrier dividing the north and south bound lanes of the state highway under Breaker's Bridge.
I stop her.
Have a seat.
She gives me a name. I chat her up. She can't tell me her high school or an old address.
I can smell the lie.
I pull up a photo, show her the box.
That ain't you.
She chimes in with her real name, claims the other one's her cousin,
says "I think I got a warrant."
I pop her real name in.
She's hot.
She looks at me, says, "Fuck it," and runs.
The streets are lined with warehouses and chain link fences. There's no where to run.
I follow her in the prower for three blocks and catch her before she can climb a fence.
Comments