I spent the next couple of hours reading a mystery novel by Elmore Leonard, marveling as I always did at his ear for low-life dialogue.
Her choice that morning had been an ankle-length claret-colored velvet dress with a ruffled collar, long sleeves, black tights, and high-top red tennis shoes. Her hair was long and thick, a color that fell somewhere between auburn and flame red thanks to a mixture of boxed dyes. Two big silver barrettes held the mass away from her face. On each wrist she wore a wide leather cuff, studded with brass and silver nail heads.
“You look like you’re on your way to the Renaissance Faire.”
California was a bust. She expected surfers, dopers, and free spirits, but it was all the same old shit as far as she could tell.