Tell me a story

“Tell me a story.”
“Excuse me?”
“Tell me a story.” She repeated slower this time, lifting the small black stick up to her mouth.
“A story?”
“Yes.” Irritation made her voice raspier. Or maybe it was the cloves she was chain smoking.
“What about?”
She sighed. A deep sigh of disappointment. Or maybe it was just her lungs trying to draw in as much unpolluted air as they could before she lit up another cigarette. “About you.”
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She just suddenly materialized in front of me one day in line. I have no idea what the line was for, I just know she was there- making a scene. She was good at making scenes.
There was something frightening about her, but I think that whatever it was that sent my body into a panic and made every nerve scream, “Run,” also made her undeniably alluring. Physically, I know why I was so drawn to her. Everything about her was slender and stretched out, giving her a feline-like quality that was only enhanced by the fact that her eyes were large, round, gold orbs that burned everything within their sight.