Joyce looked down at the suitcase Buffy had packed for her before thrusting her into her car with a hand that trembled. Had she been nervous, excited or impatient? Joyce wasn’t certain. She opened the suitcase, and took out a change of clothes.

Later, perched on a bar stool, she found out that a single woman in L.A didn’t have to be young to be chatted up, and her anxiety lifted a little with every fulsome compliment and every sip of over-priced wine.

Until the breaking news on the TV over the bar broke her heart and sent her packing.



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