Opening the wrought iron gate he walked up the gravel path and rang the only doorbell: deep within, soft chimes. The boy held his sleeping bag tight, ready to run if it was a trick, an ambush. In the trees birds sang and a squirrel hopped along the high wall separating the garage from the next house along, where a lace curtain ruffled. No warning footsteps: the door opened and he jumped back.
The boy recognised the pretty woman from the phone: her hair long and tied back, her lips a deep purple. She held a thin robe over her body and appeared nervous: the robe only fell as low as her knees, beneath black nylon. She wore black heels which shone in the sun and looked bewildered, lost.