BLINDERS © 2002 M.D. KOFFIN THIS DRAFT IS FOR PREVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY. DO NOT COPY OR REDISTRIBUTE THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT THE AUTHOR'S EXPRESSED PERMISSION. A dusty blue seventy-something Dodge Dart, which was not aging gracefully, slowly rolled to a stop in front of the full service gas pump. Cora turned off the engine but the car continued to idle for a moment after she removed her key, finally stuttering to a noisy halt. "Piece of junk." She mumbled under her breath. The car door let out a rusty groan as she shoved it open, having to put her shoulder into it just to get it to budge. She slipped out through the half open door, not bothering to close it behind her. She would pity anyone who tried to steal that shit box, or even the crappy AM radio. A tall young man wearing a hooded raincoat approached her car, his long black hair being whipped into his face by the rising wind. The sky had darkened to a deep purple mottled with fast moving dark gray clouds. The thick smell of ozone in the heavy electrified air was an indisputable omen of the impending storm. Dry lightning flashed, briefly illuminating everything with a strobe light quality, and a low rumble of thunder rolled in the distance, in the direction Cora was headed. Instead of feeling worried as she normally would, the sound filled her with excitement, a taste of the adventure lying in wait in front of her. "Fill it." Cora ordered, tossing her keys to the attendant so he could unlock her gas cap. She frowned at the irony. The gas was worth more than the car. He caught the keys smoothly in one hand, his expression inscrutable behind his flapping hair. Cora knew that her behavior was probably a little rude, but she was tired of being polite to strangers. What normal person would care what a pump jockey thought anyway? She headed for the ladies room to the side of the service station, her long skirt fluttering tightly against her legs like a drab flag. She hoped that the bathroom door would be unlocked. She didn't want to have to ask for the key, which they usually had attached to some awkward object to prevent theft, like a big block of wood, or an old hubcap, or a cinderblock brick. She smiled as the images continued to escalate ridiculously in her mind. She was in luck, she supposed, as there was a big round hole in the door where the lock should be. She wondered briefly at the story behind the missing lock but shrugged it off before it took up too much mental effort. BLINDERS © 2002 M.D. KOFFIN THIS DRAFT IS FOR PREVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY. DO NOT COPY OR REDISTRIBUTE THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT THE AUTHOR'S EXPRESSED PERMISSION.