Her car races down the quiet streets of the small town, violently scattering a small plume of autumn colored leaves across the jet-black asphalt as she passes.
She's late.
Fifteen минуты late.
Seventeen минуты late, she realizes as she checks her watch again. She'd Остаться в живых track of time at the record store, adding this to the reasons why she should finally break down and just buy a damn watch.
She presses her foot down on the accelerator just enough to race cleanly through a light that turns yellow, then she kisses the tips of her fingers and presses them to the roof of the car paying homage to...
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