closed starter for @wholelottamuses
under the spill of a flickering streetlamp, frankie stood still in a black dress pulled tight like a second skin, with her heels biting into the uneven concrete. the city hummed around them — taxis coughing exhaust, laughter peeling out of a bar down the block, and the low thrum of bass rattling through brick and bone. she’d learned where to stand, how to angle herself just enough to be seen without looking eager; chin lifted, shoulders loose, mouth set in that practiced half-smile that promised trouble without ever naming it. the cold kissed their calves, but they didn’t shift their weight. she never did. waiting was part of the job, same as the look, same as the silence they carried like a secret tucked behind their teeth. every car that slowed tugged at the invisible thread inside her — assessment, calculation, dismissal. they catalogued faces through windshields, wedding bands catching streetlight, and eyes that lingered too long. new york didn’t care who you were, only what you could sell, and tonight she was inventory dressed in black and nerve. she thought about rent, about the room she’d left an hour ago with its cracked mirror and the lipstick stain still ghosted on the sink. then another set of headlights rolled in, lingering, and frankie exhaled through their nose and kept their posture unchanged, ready to step forward if the window slid down.
