Fifty-one Fifty Novels & Stories

It slows right in front of me, and for a second, I think it’s going to stop. Maybe hitchhiking is a better idea than waiting for a cab. I step toward the street—and then it accelerates. The tire sinks into a puddle, and a mix of water and mud explodes straight at me, ruining my immaculate skirt. “Damn idiot! Are you blind or what?” I shout, furious, trying to see the jerk hiding behind the tinted window. The window rolls down slowly. Shamelessly. A long arm appears first. The sleeve of a black suit fits it perfectly, revealing a small but impossible-to-ignore tattoo on his wrist: a Roman numeral five.