Chiz was waiting outside her house when the cab pulled up. He’d been there long enough to have dismounted – he was perched on the side of the saddle – but not so long that he wasn’t still staring at what was left of the graffiti. He stood when the cab pulled halfway into her driveway; his bike was occupying the other half. It occurred to Andy that her car was still in the lot near what was left of the club. She had no idea what condition it was in, but she didn’t care enough to worry about it for more than a moment or two. Andy ached from her toes right to the roots of her hair. As she was carefully easing herself out of the vehicle, Chiz paid her fare. “I’d’ve got that.” Chiz replied with only a look, like she was speaking nonsense. Chiz came up close as she fished in her bag for her keys. The cab pulled away, probably a little quicker than normal, having seen the scrawl over her walls.
