Metamorphosism

Commute

Can I ride into town with you? she said.
Sure, I said.
Ooh, she said, when we passed the golf course, hidden in the fog.
Nice morning for bow-hunting golfers, I thought.
I thought you'd like Corvus Corax, I said.
One of the songs even has a harp on it. At least I think it's a harp, I said.
No harp in the liner notes, she said.
I don't even know what half these instruments are, she said.
I'd really like to see them in concert, I said.
I let her out in front of the garbage incinerator, near where she catches her subway. There was this peaceful lull of about 30 seconds while she gathered her stuff.
A woman¹ walked into the offices of the garbage incinerator place².
Dad, she said, as the woman disappeared into the shadows.
Huh? What? I said.
I'm telling mom, she said, laughing.
What? I said.
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1. [23 years old, 105 pounds, 5'5", athletic, straight chestnut hair past her shoulders, bangs, pale skin, face simultaneously waiflike and jaded, aggressive and vulnerable, 34B-24-34, lavender knit top under beige suede jacket, black over-the-knee skirt with slit, dark brown suede boots (3 1/2" tapered heel, pointed toes, gold braid detailing up the sides)
2. glancing our way^2a twice in the process

2a. i.e. checking me out^2aa

2aa. Unless she was just thinking, (first glance) hey a dusty Dobló and (second glance) with a humongous crack in the windshield.]