The skirt was her better judgement, fighting her for every step she took into the bar. A manifestation of her own will, albeit a skimpy, criminally short and tight manifestation. She hated the way it felt, each stride stretching the material before it sprung back into form, as if nothing had happened. But she was one step further into this building, one step further from the door. Everything had happened. And everything was closer to happening.
She felt the bag under her shoulder, pressed against her side, vibrate. Each buzz caused her to tremble. Taking out her phone, she glanced at the screen.