Luke looked like he had two black eyes, but he didn't. He huddled in the doorway, smiled and beckoned at someone, a friend in the darkness, outside --between-- the streetlight cylinders full of sleet and orange glow.
His friend wore an orange hooded sweater and black Lycra pants and thick, heavy winter boots. Hands stuffed in the single pouch-pocket, head down through the wind tunnel, she let herself wander into one of the cylinders. She smiled with bruise colored lips. "Heya baby," she said without looking up. She brushed by Luke and thumped into the door. "Ow," she said. "It's locked."
"What? No!" Luke turned,