Fire engine red

It had been a great day of shopping. Dorothy was thrilled. Just as she'd been about to give up on Last Resort Thrift Store and go home, she'd seen it – that little bright red number at the bottom of one of the countless bins. Captivated, Dorothy had fished it out and tried it on. It fit perfectly. What luck! It was a fire-engine red, patent faux-leather strapless dress, lined at the top and bottom with a tiger-pattered fabric. The top fit nicely around Dorothy's small, sand-filled, barely A-cup bra (Henry never wanted to look unnatural, because he was a very small man), and the bottom came up mid-thigh. The dress was skin tight, and oh so hot! After admiring herself in the mirror for almost 20 minutes, Dorothy had made her way to the checkout line to purchase her fabulous new find. As she waited patiently behind a rather large woman who seemed to be buying the store's entire supply of undergarments, another item caught her eye. There, behind the cashier on one of the grungy display shelves, sat the best pair of patent white go-go boots Dorothy had ever laid eyes on. The platform heels had to be about three inches high, and the boots looked like they rose almost to the knee. Dorothy asked to see them, tried them on, and – oh! What luck! They fit like a charm. Who knew that the Last Resort Thrift Shop would have such nifty stuff? 

And so Dorothy had bought her dress and her boots. Even though she felt the $15 was a little too much to spend, she knew she'd get her money's worth out of it.

By the time she left the thrift store, it was almost five thirty. Dusk was closing in on the town, and the infrequent but sharp, biting gusts from earlier had been replaced by an all-around dreary coldness. Dorothy was painfully hungry, but as much as she wanted to get back to her apartment and put on that new dress, she needed something to eat. She made her way right down Bucher Drive to Diner Royale, walked in, and took a seat in an unoccupied booth. 

She was greeted by a peppy, "Hello! Can I getcha somethin' to drink?" Dorothy looked up to see a young girl with a big black spot on her upper cheek. The girl was standing there smiling, holding a pen and paper, ready to take Dorothy's order. The name on the name tag read, "Mandi Mac." Dorothy sometimes saw her in the diner, and, oddly enough, every time she saw her, the girl was sporting a different bruise. 

Dorothy ordered a water, a cup of soup, and a garden salad. Since she was, after all, a woman, she wanted to eat something she considered womanly. As she waited on her food to arrive, she looked out the window. She saw a few cars pass, followed by a black van. Moments later, a police car and fire truck shot by the window, lights flashing and sirens blaring. The fire engine made her think of her new red dress, and she became even more excited to wear it. As she continued to gaze out the window, it began sleeting. Dorothy could tell it was sleet – she'd lived up here almost five years now, and sleet was no stranger to Baltimore.  

Mandi Mac brought Dorothy's meal, and Dorothy ate quickly. She'd skipped lunch. When she finished, she paid her $5 bill and left, heading past The Wrath towards Washington Heights. The sleet had stopped, thankfully. As she approached the building's door, she heard a rumble and looked up just in time to see the black van she'd seen back at the Diner ago whizzing down Baker street.