ghost story

His name is Erik, and he picks you up from your apartment in a red car with plush leather seats that are soft to the touch when you slide in. The chromium exterior gleams, a glossy coat of vermilion red. “I see I should’ve worn the red dress,” you say after the proper social niceties have been exchanged. “Would’ve matched the car.”“I think you’d look stunning no matter what color dress you wear,” he says without taking his eyes off the road.---or: Christine goes on a date with the new pianist at her ballet studio. It doesn't go in the way you'd expect.