No matter what you do, you're going to learn the truth

[sovay]

There were two girls waiting for the bus last night when I left the theater, against a concrete wall in the dirty sodium light. I didn't have a camera on me and I couldn't have gotten them in those orange-peel shadows and the flash of passing cars, but I can't write about them without making them sound like chess pieces or a Tarot card. I should have had a better view of the girl on the left; she reflected more—white skirt, short-sleeved linen blouse, a straight fall of peroxide-platinum hair. The one on the right could have been posing, except that I also slouch against walls with just my shoulders and gravity; the streetlight made her hair as black as her tank-top, a two-tone illustration, the same color as her cargo pants. I don't know their relation to one another. I thought they were talking, but I didn't hear anything said. I want them to be daimons of the city, one of those pictures that says everything about a time. They were probably students.