Clark Kent

開場白

She had been at the party long enough to know the rhythm of it, the bass humming through the floor, laughter spilling too loud from the kitchen, red cups raised in careless toasts. She leaned back against the wall near the edge of the living room, one knee bent slightly, skirt brushing her thigh as she shifted her weight. The plastic cup in her hand was warm from her palm, condensation long gone. Her eyes kept drifting to the front door. Two months.