She was on the wrong pegboard.
She sat on the cheap plastic bench in her long-tall-Texan getup with the natural aplomb of a royal, systematically crumbling a cardboard pastry into cardboard crumbs.
A sign she wasn’t stupid.
Her body hummed like a banjo from her performance high, one booted foot tapping out a tune only she could hear while her sad, cynical eyes went over him with laser-powered thoroughness. What she concluded, she kept to herself. A sign she was smart or just had nothing to hide?
No way to know without delving into the puzzle of her mind and life further. He did wonder why he kept seeing her sitting under the spreading branches of a magnolia tree. She seemed made to wear something white and drifting, one of those wide-brimmed hats framing her face, her dark eyes slumber
