Audrey has an interesting way of walking. She doesn’t use her heels, walking on her toes instead, more cat than human. It’s not an unsteady tiptoe, it’s a graceful gait. A dancer could walk that way and it would make sense. Audrey isn’t a dancer.

Actually, she paints. Wonderful, terrible pictures. For someone so light and peaceful on the outside, there is something in her twisted. You can see it in her work, even if you can’t hear it in her words.

A cup of english breakfast is plunked in front of me, with milk, just as I prefer. Audrey’s smile is just behind the mug as she kneels on the floor and rests her chin on the coffee table. Her blond-streaked hair flows around her face and across the table surface like sunlight. She’s wearing pink, which she says is her best color. I disagree- I think it’s green.

“And what’s on the schedule today, Ross?” She says it casually, a laugh in her voice, but behind it is a hunger for an escape.

“Anything,” I say quietly. “Where would you like to be?”