No young teen, this one. Older than her, probably late-twenties. Longish hair the color of charcoal. He was tall, although he seemed to be doing his best to disguise the fact, all slouched into himself, one boot sole--cowboy boots no less--braced against the wall as though he belonged there when Theda knew damn well he didn't. He was too groomed, too...well, too damned clean to belong hereabouts. He leveraged the other foot against the heat of the sidewalk bricks where at least some of them still looked like they had when they'd first been laid: nice and flat and patterned. Not so many of them anymore--too much damage from the holocaust for the cobblestones to look neat. Most now heaved up in places, tripping filthy vagrants and respectable survivors alike, not that the two of those things could be separated anymore either. The mere notion of survivors and vagrants paired up in ways that the sidewalk stones should have but didn't, at least not in Theda's part of the supercity. Even in the shaded late afternoon light, even beneath the shadows of leafy treetops stretching leggy, malnourished branches to heaven, she could tell the guy was studying her.
What do You think about Phoenix (dystopian Romance) (Theta Waves: Episode 1)?
