The way Little Miss Perfect tells it, you'd think I was head of a gang of street thugs when I was a kid. We weren't thugs, we were twelve. All we wanted was some prize money, or at least a bit of ... [+]
Mrs Wallace had to jaywalk to make the bus, which was about to pull away. It wasn't easy. She was overweight and her left knee, which hadn't been feeling so good of late, felt spongey. Breathing audibly, she got on and took a seat at the back, next to the window. The bus was half-empty but quickly filled up after a few more stops. She was watching the red-brick houses on Brigham Street glide by when her phone rang. She didn't recognise the number. "Hello? Who's this?" On the other end she heard the sound of heavy traffic, followed by a man's gravelly voice. "Yea, it's nurse Wallace," she sa