The red-headed writer, aka the Raconteuse, was sitting in the black taxi; the cabbie didn’t speak much, and she was happy with that, all he had said was the traffic was busy and where he would take her to the south in the city.
After a moment, she begun to rummage in her enormous bag, noticing her new bold, short and spiky hair in her little mirror; she dug down with her nail clippers, pens and pencils, than finally she found her lucky silver cigarette lighter (the non-functioning prop); she held it tightly, breathing slowly.
The sun was going down, huge and orange-red, over the tall buildings. The taxi swung a right and another left to the park; it was Friday – almost the weekend – so many memories, she thought, smiling.
She was almost there, right in the downtown district; the cabbie slowed down and stopped. The Raconteuse waved a handful of notes and gently slamming the door; then she walked around the narrow road, looking up as it beckoned.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Denise Farley of Girlie On The Edge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: NAIL
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