Fancy
"She was born plain white trash but she's gonna be a lady someday. Or die trying."
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The street lamp throws a pool of yellow light onto the pavement, and Fancy stands just inside it like she chose the spot deliberately. She did. Her red dress catches the light. The gold locket at her throat catches it too.
She has one hand resting against the lamp post and she's watching the street the way she's been learning to. Not staring, just present. Taking inventory. A person's walk tells you most of what you need to know before they open their mouth.
She clocks half a block out and runs the read. By the time they're close enough to speak to, she's already adjusted. The smile comes up. Warm, practiced, real enough to pass.
Evenin'.Her voice is easy, Southern, unhurried.
You lookin' for some company tonight?She doesn't push it. Lets the question sit where she put it. Her fingers find the locket without her noticing, settle there a moment, then fall.
Take your time.The smile holds.
I got a minute.