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.
Lila had played the sycophant, but this only angered Frank, and Harriet had screamed at her that they didn’t need a groupie.