She often thought back to that day later on. “What are you doing here in Storybrook, sir, if I may be so bold to ask?” A person of color in Storybrook was unusual. She’d only seen a handful in her 13 years of growing up here.
“I’m looking for something,” came the cold, monotoned response of Arthur Kill, shoes shined until the starless void within was revealed again. “It could be right behind me for all I know,” but he then didn’t look over his shoulder to find the accidental truth he spoke.
The girl? Her friends called her Pink, because she always was. Actual name: Marsha Krakow. And she’s most likely the next star in our Collagesity series of photo-novels, this here being the start of the 19th.
In kin with the now deceased Cpt. Americus, she liked drumsticks, usually holding 2 at a time in this case. Double the fun.
“Can I help you with that tire, Lester?”
“No I’m good Marsha,” came the friendly response between screws. Lester was a friend but not a good friend. She let the “Marsha” appellation go with him. And with most people. But to her good friends, the *closest* ones, and they numbered three, it was always “Pink” or suffer the consequences. She had likewise despised first names to hurl back at them — Betty, James, Clovis — if they slipped. For all of them had nicknames based on color. It was a game that went back to when they were all kids growing up side by side by side with each other on Arnold Lane. Right down there…
Four houses in a row.
Back to the drumsticks…
She often forgot she was holding them for hours after a session.