Trevor looked into Sydney's eyes, but his peripheral vision was zeroed in on Sydney's small but well contoured and shapely bust. "Do I know you?" Trevor said.
She shrugged. "Whatever flips your switch, Jack." She stood, reached behind her and pulled down the dress's zipper. She held the dress in place and stared hard at him. "You didn't turn into some freako psycho, didja?"
When he had heard the secret word for the Second Coming, Mr. Jesus ran up the street and to the walkway leading to the small house where the strange woman lived.
She was all smoke. A wisp of the woman she once was. She gazed through gin-blurred eyes at the image that stared back at her from the bar's mirror--an anamorphic fun-house mirror shadow of the woman she once was, the woman she could have still been.