Going Down Goth
“Those inconsiderate little bastards,” Brittany Crawford muttered as the headlights on her Chevrolet Caprice illuminated the driveway of her home crammed full of cars. Her younger sister Nicole was having another party with those creepy friends of hers and now she’d have to park in the alley. She hated parking in the alley because old Mr. Leonard would always be afraid to pass her in his ancient Chrysler and come knocking on the door asking her to move.
She drove around to the alley, then carefully down and parked by a gate in the high board fence that enclosed the back yard. Removing her radio, she shouldered her back pack, locked the car, unlocked the gate, went in, relocked it and trudged across the frosty lawn to the back door.