yet another beginning

"You know what's the best thing to see in Chuckwalla Flats?" asked Zia of no-one in particular.
"The 'Welcome to Chuckwalla Flats' sign in your rear-view mirror."

She clanked another empty glass down on the counter, and wiped her hands on the lapels of her somewhat disheveled suit-jacket. The convention center's bar had mostly emptied for the night, and the few night owls paid her no attention.

"Whole place is a dump," she slurred. "Lived there 'leven years, each year hate it more than the last. Go on business trips just to get away from it."

Immersed in her own complaints, Zia scarcely noticed the swish of fabric and odd perfume as someone wearing a dark red dress and a long black coat sat down next to her, placing a small black leather briefcase on the bar.

"Fascinating," said the stranger with a strange but sincere grin. "Do go on."