I Need More Hours With You

She took a last drag on her cigarette, then pressed hard against the aluminum lid of the trash can. Her right hand was still rummaging through the black leather bag until she felt the key to her Spark, the seats of which were covered with large makeup boxes. She hurried to the parking lot, exposing herself to the relentless rain. The dark gray knit cap on her head was wet in seconds. Suddenly she heard a familiar voice. She had no idea how the next few hours would unfold. And when her eyes meet him again, for a moment it will seem as if nothing has changed.