You can’t help but look. A stockinged leg invites a gaze. Her voice has more honey than it should given the hard face and comatose eyes. You watch her lips. She’s all teeth and angles. She says he’s been a dick. He hit the window cos who the fuck knows why. You watch the cop flinch when she swears. A young, soft, upper middle-class scion who will never let go of those values, no matter how many tattoos cover his arms. You pass the ambulance, guessing the boyfriend is bleeding in there. You think: she had nice legs. The face wouldn’t win a prize, but those legs could hold their own.