"Hello," she whispered.
Veronica left the bar at midnight and walked south along Chicago Avenue. She paused beneath a flickering street lamp to check her phone. No calls. He had stood her up again. She decided it was the last time. If he called her she would not answer. She would show him. Let him wonder where she was for a while. Let him wonder if she was with someone else. Let him know how it felt to be put behind everything else in someone's life. To be treated like garbage. Neglected. Used. Suddenly her phone rang. It was him.
"Hello," she whispered. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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