Heat from the remaining day's sun beats feverishly down on my white fedora. And just as thick as the late day air hangs the scent of seduction. Is it my own scent I smell, or is it the siren's I speed towards - the seductress, this mistress of the night. Racing in my small car towards an unknown city, my stories for the awaiting two nights and a day flash across my shaded eyes as quickly as the tires of my car can gobble up the hot asphalt. Who is this woman? What lies in the shadows of the coming night?
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