2. Two Miles to Prison

Mirrored aviators and a scuffed brown loafer emerged from the driver's side door. A jacketed wrist reached up to sweep the aviators onto a thinly tufted scalp, revealing the concern knitted into the driver's pudgy brow. 

"Yah 'right, Luv?" He left his car door gaping in the vacant highway as he rushed to Sara's side, placing a kindly hand on her elbow. She winced but did not pull away.

"Oh," As she responded she could feel her knees giving in to the support of the stranger's crooked arm, "Yes, it should all be fine. There was a critter in the road; it startled me. I don't see him anymore, so he must be okay. I just can't find my phone. I should probably call 'the warden!'" Sara rolled her eyes and chuckled. Keenly aware of the physical contact, yet still unable to muster strength in her knees, she awkwardly tugged at her purse again, this time checking the outside pocket. "Oh! There's my phone!" Her fingers found the weighty shape and clicked to the first contact in recent calls, a thumbnail cartoon of a red devil. The line beeped with a "no service" message and Sara looked back down at the phone in her hand. "Wait, this is the old..."

"I reckon you oughta come to work with me, Luv. We'll get you fixed up in the infirmary, get you some water, and find out who it is you need to call, yeah?"

"Really, I'll be okay. If I could just use your phone for a quick sec to call my fiancee," she dropped the disparaging metaphors and oozed the f-word like she had when they were first engaged, rather than their bitter six-year trudge to the altar, "Then I can just wait in the car for him to come."