Bigtop - part 4

Angel walked out of the crumbling toilet at Buckbone's Gas & Feed Station with her hair rough-hewn, close to her ears. The little stuff left was left dyed bubblegum pink. Below a vengeful, sloping brow Angel's steady eyes measured the landscape that surrounded her. Fury curled the corners of her razor-thin smile.
            Buckbone himself got a split-second view of the inside of that poor wreck of a room between the time the door flew open and when it slammed shut again.
            "Seems like," Buckbone sneered, "that lady owes me some money for setting off some kind of girlie-bomb in our public toilet."
             Four dusty men sitting on a plank of lumber beside him nodded quietly, squinting at the shock of pink bird strutting toward the broken down vehicle rattling restlessly in the unpaved lot.
            Slim leaned over and, with one finger, pushed the passenger door open for Angel. "I think you'll want to hop in quickly before these fellas get a look at what I just saw in that rest room."
            "By the looks of it," she sneered, eying the short parade heading for them, "they seen it."
            And that's how Slim and Angel set off, southward, from Haysville, Kansas: Falling angrily, broke, pink, pregnant and in flames, with the failures of their own pasts weighing on them and little more than the truth ready to cushion the plunge on the bottom side.

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