0100, PST.

Anna tucked her hands into the pocket of her hoodie, leaned into her janky old Toyota, and scanned the horizon. As always, she was a little late, not atypical for a girl like her; early 20’s, eyes downturned and sunken-in, hair knotted and frazzly underneath a cool-blue baseball cap, the sown on LAD starting to go yellow with its age. She was here, for now, to wait– hung out in a massive, dead empty parking lot, trying to pretend she wasn’t watching the door to the bowling alley. Overhead, a fuzzy box-light sign hummed intently to itself, reading SMITH’S in red text. He should’ve been out soon.

It’d been a while since she’d taken a drive into the city. Long enough that she’d almost wondered if her car still worked. After just a week or so away from Harborview Correctional, her memories were fuzzy enough to feel a little like she was never there… Anna couldn’t remember her daily routines anymore, what they’d served for lunch, the name of the cellmate that got let out a month in… it was a mess, all of it, really. All she got to keep were the scars.

She wasn’t sure when the sign went out. It was off in the corner of her vision– one second flickering in off white, some of its murky, splotchy stains visible even from so far away, the other featureless and black. But had she watched it sputter and die? Maybe if she was a few years younger she would’ve known. Anna wasn’t sure if it was the nicotine, the stress of jail, or just a loss of good habits, but she’d made a vow to get her brain kicking in high gear post-emancipation. After all, it was a lapse of judgement that’d put her in a cell in the first place. Made her drift through life day by day, killed her sense of time, of reality, until she felt like a spectator in her own body… a part of her, the right arm, had started to shiver uncontrollably, and her hand instinctively went up to rub the cold away. She winced a bit at how frigid her fingers felt.

Right. The sign went out. That meant they were finally done closing– the warmth of her car was right there, maybe a few moments away. As soon as that door opened… Anna breathed deep and pictured that dusty, plastickey scent old cars tended to get when the air circulated. The cold would wake her up. For a moment she struggled to recall his name, a word she’d spoken every day through six grades of hell. The door swung open slowly, and she averted her eyes, thinking hard. How did she forget his name?

He was crossing the parking lot. Anna watched his feet, then his stomach, his chest, then his face. Now he was about a foot taller, but his eyes looked exactly how they were back then– brown, round, and big, maintaining those effeminately long black lashes. Graham. It was easy as soon as she saw them. The only thing that was new were the bags.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, shit.”Bashfully, Anna smiled up at him, taken slightly aback. He smelled boozy, but a little sweet, like a rich caramel. “You still have the babyface.”

“And you look like you’re past your due date.”

“hah...”

For a moment, there was a lull in the conversation as Graham sized her up, scowling at the cigarette that burned besides her hip. Anna smiled shamefully, looking away.

“They really got to you, huh?”

“Ugh, I know. I’m quitting. Swear.”

That was bare-faced. Anna didn’t even realize she’d lit a cigarette until Graham looked down at her hand– it was that bad now. To be totally fair, some vice had to help her slog through prison, and unfortunately smoking was it… when she’d started, she thought she’d kick it when she was free, but nicotine never let you off easy. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat, trying to come up with something clever to play off with.

“I always knew you’d end up somewhere like this. Smith and Sons Bowling… est 2002…” Anna chuckled snidely.

“We’re hiring, actually. I could interview you.”

“You– what?”

He scoffed, grinning all sly, a mannerism that she’d infected him with. “Just closed the place, and you didn’t pick up that I’m the manager?”

“...no.”

“What happened to you?”

That was obviously not meant to cut like it did, but Anna felt it, blunt as it was. “Listen,” She lifted her hands to protest, but her shoulders sagged, and she took a hit instead, puffing smoke as she replied. “Jail messed me up, dude. Like.” She did a spiral sign around her temple. “I don’t even know what I ate for lunch anymore.”

“Ugh, man, me neither.” Graham chuckled full-chestedly. The car rocked as he leaned against it, nudging a hip up against Anna. “I’m tired. Swear I’ve aged ten years.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

Another lull. Anna could hear a car going by on the I-46, see a faint white LED glow in the corner of her eye. She looked around– at the highway above the parking lot, up at the tops of the skyscrapers, then at Graham’s curly black hair, which was almost to his shoulders now. It almost hit how small his head was– almost. Was he always so big? His hand was laid on the car, so Anna leaned over and put hers beside it, comparing the sizes. “Holy shit,”

That made him laugh, tilting his head straight down, covering his mouth with a fist. “Hey, you’re still weird.”

Anna pulled her hand back, giggling for half a second, thinking for too long about sticking it out and ruffling his hair like an overgrown kid. She had to look away, just as he smiled at her, all warm and full like it used to be. “They’ll never fix me,” Her remark was plain as she leaned back, putting her other shoulder back on the car door. Graham’s jacket crumpled besides her.

“Tiny.”

Something heavy touched the top of Anna’s head, Graham’s hand, still warm from his shift. He was patting her head— or, more accurately, her hat. She didn’t even look at him.

“No one would find your body.”

“I wish you’d try.”

“Get– get in the car, dude.”

“Aw, what’d I do?”

“Door handle. Pull. Sit.”

Anna turned and yanked it open, crashing down into her car’s worn leather seat. Her key clicked in the ignition, and she was too short turning it, wincing as the engine cranked but didn’t turn. This thing was so old– it felt like it was gonna fall apart if she pushed the gas a little too hard. It’d already broken down twice and Anna was trying to be careful. The passenger door opened, and again her car was rocking, with Graham’s head rubbing uncomfortably against the furry gray ceiling.

“Augh.”

He had to bring his chin down to his chest, watching Anna lean over and wave an arm towards the adjuster.

“What?”

“Under.”

Graham reached down, and his seat slid and clicked aggressively, the passenger seat’s plastic rails louder thanks to their lack of wear– relative to the driver’s seat, at least. Anna changed how she sat all the time, and the poor teeth had been ground down until they couldn’t protest anymore. Now that her passenger was as good and comfortable as he could be in a seat made for men half his size, Anna cranked the engine too short again, and again it sputtered. “God dammit.”

It wasn’t even that hard to start, only taking three seconds’ patience to bring it roaring to life, but Anna was just so impatient. Ack. She gripped the wheel a little hard and leaned onto her shoulder, looking out the rear window.