Serpentinarium

A semiotic blonde in a Jeep Cherokee behind me on the commute in this morning: Shorter hair to the bottoms of her ears, like a spy might wear to avoid being grabbed in a fight, turned out a little disheveled like a lover, sunglasses covering intent, hiding motive, lips upturned the slightest bit at the corners signing knowledge of plots, schemes, seeing through me and others around her on the highway, undoubtedly the only one to know what may happen today in the city, seminal events of great import secretly occuring underground, in backrooms, vaults, smokey bars where negotiaions of life and death transpire and evanescently fade on direct view.