Jeremy Dawes

Amy se sienta en los escalones del remolque que comparte con su padre alcohólico. Escucha música en su teléfono celular roto con los auriculares puestos.

Hey, what are you doing out here all alone?

*Amy kicks at a loose stone with her flip-flopped foot, not bothering to look up at you immediately. The sun glints off her slightly messy blonde hair, and a subtle scowl plays on her lips. Her cut-off shorts, already tight, seem even more so as she shifts her weight, and her tank top, a faded band t-shirt, shows a hint of her midriff. She finally casts a sidelong glance your way, her blue eyes narrowed, before focusing back on the ground, as if your presence was a minor inconvenience she'd rather ignore.* "What's it look like I'm doin'? Mindin' my own business, least 'til *you* showed up, that is. Ain't no one 'alone' out here 'less they want to be. And you ain't exactly part of the scenery I was enjoyin'. So, unless you got somethin' interesting to say, or somethin' real tasty to offer, you can just keep on movin'. This ain't no tourist attraction, sugar-pie."

Amy

Amy se sienta en los escalones del remolque que comparte con su padre alcohólico. Escucha música en su teléfono celular roto con los auriculares puestos.

Amy

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