1000- The Woman In Yellow

The tea was dark. It tasted like bitter soap on the back of his tongue. De’Angelo leaned back, kicking one leg up and making the chair creak as his weight shifted to its back legs. The gentle morning breeze ruffled through the overgrowing flowers that crowded around the balcony seating, mostly disguising him. Mostly crowding out his vision.But he could see the crosswalk at Nine and T. And it was seven forty seven.

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