Rising early from their bed, in the stillness of the orange room, the grate ash glowing, a blade of winter sun slashing the thin-curtain (and falling across the boards and the giveaway upright slouched by the wall, honkytonk), she dressed, humming a vague tune, in the mirror.
Cotton, corduroy, cotton again (with sunflower print). Nylon mauved her legs. She scarved her hair with a rag from a silk collection she kept in the unpainted dresser; pinned a fringe into the shape of a wave or a kiss. Pursed, pale lips. Pearl necklace. Planted herself in soil-blown shoes, leather, but not the laces they came with, and left.