Week Twelve, The S.
“You bounced again!”
Lucy startled. “You bounced again. And hello to you, too.”
“You’re not supposed to do it without me. You could get yourself killed.” Jack shut the door. “What happened this time?”
The light changed and Lucy waited for an opening to turn left. “Actually, I’m not really sure. I was on a run, going up Windsor — and, well, here we are. 1982.”
He glanced at her. “Nice pants, by the way. Jumping out of a plane later?”
Lucy turned left onto 6th. “Nice pants,” she mimicked, but she was smiling. “You should talk.”
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Home,” she said. “How do people live in apartments? The guy downstairs is a menace. Freakin’ country music. I’ve been passive-aggressively pounding an umbrella on the floor in time to the beat.”
“Not really all that passive,” said Jack.