It was a white knuckle ride, but nothing bad happened. No helicopters. No ambushes. No frying pans. We glided out of the Federal lands, and came down out of the mountains into the ye olde yuppie/hippie college town of Boulder, Colorado.
I was still expecting to find Mollies at every turn as we pivoted through the town (no longer going fast because they have traffic cameras on every lampost here, and you can go to jail for reckless endangerment if you crowd a bicyclist.) But everything stayed fine. Boulder is not exactly my kind of city — it’s a tad too tame — but I do like it, and no matter how yuppified, I still have fond memories of the Pearl Street Mall And especially the Boulder Bookstore.
There were crowds of people everywhere, musicians, jugglers, German tourists and the like, and it just wasn’t the sort of place where servants of immortals are likely to parachute in and shoot you. Strattera and walked hand in hand down from the top of mall and I was finally beginning to truly relaxed when we saw her.
She was walking out of my beloved Boulder Bookstore, looking away from us, just a young woman with reddish hair who could be anyone.
I think I might have paused for a second, but that was all. I mean, people do have red hair.
But, as I might not have stressed enough earlier, the Mollies are not actually clones of each other. They’re clearly different people. At the airport, they were all dressed similarly, it’s true, and they all had light skin and various shades of red hair, and looked about 25, but that was all that was the same about them.
This woman wasn’t dressed at all like the Mollies we’d been looking at. She was just a girl with red hair, and so I shook my fears away and we walked past her.
And then she spoke to us. (continued in my next post) — Flyss