Rona trudged home from the bus stop after another long day at the diner. It had been the usual crowd of morons and misfits, plus the handsy guy from Newark who kept grabbing her ass whenever she turned away; she kept turning away, though, afraid of what he might grab if she didn’t.
She walked to the front yard of her home and leaned against a tree. She wanted a smoke, but she had only one cigarette left, and she was saving it for just before she went to bed; she wanted one smoke and two minutes of peace to wrap up the typically dull, frantic, miserable day.
Rona pushed herself away from the tree and walked up the steps. She opened the door and closed and locked it behind her.
“I’m home, E.J.,” she called.
She listened for movement but heard nothing. She walked back toward the kitchen, which was dark