Two paragraphs excerpted from the short story I started today:
Rounding the corner to her house was a daily disappointment. It was set back from the road that led out of town, a cleared area after a stretch of trees on both sides and glimpses of the creek down to the left. The siding was forest green - though any forest that shade of green would have been cause for concern. Tru had hoped the mantle of rural poverty would lift once the previous tenants left and took their hounds and copious primary-colored plastic children's toys with them. But their eviction hadn't had that effect. The fleas had stayed, had proved impervious to several moppings with bleach water. Tru had driven to the next town over to buy flea bombs, afraid of having one of the back-to-nature crowd catch her in the chemical aisle of Safeway.
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Trudy dropped her keys into her purse. It was made from dark brown leather with three-inch fringe at the bottom seam and most of the original turquoise and red beading. A thunderbird, the saleswoman had said, a steal at twice the price. The purse had the habit of disguising its contents. Digging for her wallet or checkbook was like that game in grade school where you had to plunge your hand into a paper sack and guess what an object was by touch. Now, she squeezed her purse under her armpit and burst from the car, slammed the door behind her, scrabbled on the gravel driveway, pounded up the saggy stairs and into the house, as if the rain were a killer, hot on her heels.
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