1a.m. on Monday here, but still Sunday in the States and UK. This is totally unbeta-ed. Suggestions welcome.
“Mrs Thompson?”
“Yes. I am Lavinia Thompson.” She handed Ryan her ticket in a slow, measured movement. She was tall and thin, her black skin dried and wrinkled by sun, age and hard work; wide grey streaks were visible in the tight knot of her hair, covered by an old straw hat. Her clothes were similarly worn, plain and scrupulously clean.
“You ride up top, you hear?” Two men were walking towards the stage, both white, in their thirties, hefty, wearing badly-fitting suits and derbies. “Or maybe you can sit out at the back.”
mici's campfire 