Did she wear the hat? I warned her. I’m dark haired myself, I fit in. They don’t notice you, the street cops, the block wardens, the bluesuited watchers with their commsticks and lasers. Uniformity is safety. Don’t be noticed as a stranger.
Ah, she said, it’ll be fine. I’ll be OK. She took a last swig of kavafi (how did it not burn her throat? It’s firewater) and headed down the stairs.
Two hours. I wait for my commstick to bleep. Nothing.
Six hours. I check the news on my commstick. S**t.
Oh gods, I wish she’d worn the hat.
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