Skid Roche

The ticket counter was just inside the door. The guy took Naomi’s money and she caught him doing a double take. She stared him down and he stared back, then smiled faintly before looking down. Naomi couldn’t tell if he’d made her, seen beyond the hooded sweatshirt, slim build and faked gruff voice, or if he was just a guy cruising another guy. He was an older black man, good-looking and built. She smiled back at him, wondering if her smile looked enough like a guy’s.

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