“Whoosh,” the bus pulled away. Clutching her small bag, she took careful steps around melting puddles towards the door. She rested her hand only a moment on the handle, gathering the courage to turn it and walk in.
Inside it was dim, the sunlight cut through sharply, music played in the corner, a warm musty smell hit her. A few old men sat at the bar, sipping Coors right from the can. The bartender leaned in to one old guy, listening to his story. He turned slowly and stood, hand on hip surveying her.
“Hi Baby,” she whispered.