She had already been approached twice in the first half-hour. One was at least a decade older, forty maybe. His breath made her skin crawl and his bod... was unpleasant, to say the least. The other was closer to her age, perhaps he was thirty too. Creepy and too eager, she thought.She ordered another drink and was considering making it her last. She remembered why she hated bars. “You don’t want the martinis here. They taste like paint-stripper,” a voice from next to her said. She shifted her. ”“Sorta,” said Ashe.They listened together, bathed in sweat, bodies pressed close together. They heard the whoosh of the wind, the rush of the highway, the cries and howls of life in the desert. Thick adobe and plaster walls muffled the sound of the world outside.And they couldn’t stay in the room any longer, they had to be out amongst it all, the heat in the room suffocated them, the air poisoned them. A sheen of oily sweat painted their skin. The promise of the sound of the world outside. More

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