“Please! I didn’t kill her!” he pleaded with me. Now, I was certain I smelled piss as a large wet spot appeared in the front of his pants. “I ...ust love fucking married women! I didn’t hurt her! I couldn’t hurt anybody.”“Get up!” I demanded as I dragged him by his cuffed hands. He stood, wobbly, and staggered forward as I shoved him through the door. I dragged him across the sidewalk, heading to my car, Marcel protesting his innocence.The door behind me opened again, and Jude exited, shouting. I knew immediately that there was no way to fix it myself, leaving me with no other option than to walk back the five miles to the last gas station and phone for a tow. I sighed and started on my way along the rocky shoulder, concerned for what the dirt and dust would do to my impeccable appearance. My white stockings and light-weight brown shoes were not meant for the rough terrain. My feet were aching by the time I was halfway to the gas station. I knew my green cotton. More

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