As promised, here is the scene I deleted from "What Killed Frizzy":
We say our goodbyes, and I leave work early for my shopping excursion. I take the scenic route to K Mart, through extravagant old-guard homes with expansive green lawns and red brick Georgian exteriors and porches hels up by white Corinthian columns. The neighborhood is calming. I don't have to be worried about being unwelcome, as I'm not one of the nouveau riche. I'm not even nouveau poor. I'm old money poor, one of the finest old money poor families in the state.
In my rear view mirror I see flashing red lights and then hear a siren. I pull over and a white and blue police car pulls in behind me. The officer asks for the usual, the license, registration, insurance. I'm a heavily insured, middled-aged woman in taupe four door sedan who can find those documents easily.
As he starts to tell me that the speed limit on this street is only 25 miles per hour, and perhaps I'm confused, cars speed by us, while teenagers laugh and point and give us the finger. They press their faces to the glass, mouthing with I think is f*** you and kiss me, but is more likely kiss my a**.
I liked the alienation in the scene above and the image of peering through the glass at a world going by. It echoes some of the scenes in the story. But, when I read the story, it was distracting.
It's 9:15 here, and that means I need to get some rest (I know, I know, party girl!). I'm a glutton for sleep. Good night.