Poor College Student Came Inside the Dumped Rich Woman

Snow had been coming down since late afternoon. He read the message outside the dorm, put the phone away, and went back out with his cigarettes. The bar at the edge of campus was too big for a weeknight. He was the last one still sitting when they walked in. A few minutes later there was one clean crack. The guy left with a hand on his cheek. She stayed, coat open, like the room had already been decided.She didn't look like she belonged on that street. Black coat cut short, wool trousers, boots with a clean line, hair still damp from the walk. Mid-twenties, sharp where he was only good-looking in photographs, the kind of face that doesn't check the room to see who's watching. When he offered her the back of his bike, seat capped white, she almost smiled, tired more than cruel, and unlocked a low black coupe down the row. The sound of it was small and expensive. He got in because she asked if he was coming.The town thinned out. She turned into a gap between dead walls, set the brake, and killed the fan. Snow sealed the glass. He asked what they were doing. She gave it back to him: he'd asked her out, so what did he want. The rest of it happened in that narrow seat, her coat on the floor, no names and no number after. Before the light changed she drove him back to the rack, already looking past him at the turnaround. He got out and didn't look around. She had a car that didn't belong on his street. He had a room with a knocking radiator.