Michael Malone - Weebly

flood, or on the Orient Express, or on horseback, or at
a masked ball, or out of the sky in a parachute. But
Fate works on a tighter budget.
So, down the bank steps danced Lance Abernathy,
vaulted into his Jaguar, roared around half of Dingley
Circle, and braked with a blare of horn as out of the
Tea Shoppe floated Joy Strummer, straight toward the
front of his car.
"Hey!" he yelled, without looking, annoyed. "Hey!"
he called in a new voice, seeing her.
"I didn't see you, I'm sorry," she said, then saw him.
"I wasn't watching, I'm sorry." He smiled in reply.
The truth was that, from time to time for a dozen
years, they had seen but not looked at each other, or
had looked but never seen.
Lance was almost twice Joy's age, and so Fate had
waited until that once vast difference had contracted to
insignificance—as far as desire at first sight could see.
"I haven't seen you around here before." Lance
leaned over the side of his open sports car, a crimson
burning chariot. Joy had often seen herself riding in such
a car, her hair tied in a sky-silk scarf, and wearing