They are the beautiful ones, the tough ones, the sexy ones, the cruel ones. They hang out on streetcorners late in the day, with their sunglasses and their tight skirts and their high boots and their brass knuckles. You can feel their eyes gawking at you from behind those shades. Their gaze is like the sunlight, it cuts like a switchblade. They are the girls you once dreamed of becoming; but you found you were ugly and graceless and timid, so you settled for the next best fantasy, and you dreamed of having one of those bad girls as a lover.
But now, as she looks right through you, you can’t dream even that; that fantasy, too, is out of reach. So you take from the moment what you can get from it: her power and her contempt, your fear and your hunger.