A black corvette pulls up at the curb, and a young woman steps out. She is dressed in a dusky rose roman-styled dress, decoratively trimmed in black fringe, with a black shawl draped loosely about her shoulders. Her blonde hair is swept up gracefully kept in place by two black hairpins. (And about a hundred bobby pins!) Her lips and fingernails are painted a startling black, and her open toed sandals (black, of course) reveal that her toenails are painted the same.
"Miss Oddwen!" screeches a reporter shoving a mike at me. "What's it like to see your phrase all over the downs?"
"Spiffy!" and I make a run for it. There is a bevy of cameras making straight for me, and I'm very camera shy.
She passes the metal detector with ease, having no weapons to take, and walks into the great hall. There is an overwhelming amount of color and faces. All she can recognize are the large form of Trippo and the shine of the Saucepan Man. She waves at both and sits at a corner table to wait.
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But all the while I sit and think of times there were before
I listen for returning feet and voices at the door
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