“I like strong women,” said the voice. He was a young man, barely 23. He leant up against the wall, and she wasn’t sure if he was trying to hide his nervousness, or maybe he really did like strong women.
“I believe in anarchy,” he said quickly as if trying to prove a point. She didn’t look up. He was full of energy and there was a rippling about his energy, a crackling. It was almost as if he was daring her to look at him. If she kept looking at the coaster that she was slowly ripping up in her hand then maybe he would think her dismissive and uninterested. And that would give her the upper hand.
