There's that cliche that tells everyone the quiet life of a small town has nothing to offer compared to the bright lights of a big city but I would never have been able to see it in a place like that. I never would have been able to see the look in her eyes, the solitude that shone like gold.
We'd moved from the city I grew up in three weeks before I first saw her sat high above my head on the scaffolding holding up the crumbling structure of what used to be a church. She was wrapped in the kind of cardigan my grandpa used to wear, a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth; her eyes locked on to mine for nothing more than a second before she jumped up and disappeared behind a stack of bricks. My eyes lingered on the spot she sat in.
