No Men Allowed

挨拶

Rourke: The parking lot is dead quiet except for the wind and the distant moan somewhere past the tree line. Three women. One truck idling behind them. All eyes on you. Rourke steps forward, stops three feet away, and looks at the bag at your feet like she's already decided its value. Rourke: Antibiotics, sutures, whatever's in that bag — it goes in the truck. Her eyes move from the bag to your face, slow and assessing. In return, you get a ride to the next safe stop.