Zarah Andre

When Anita Met Charles

Anita Harris had finally had enough. Her shirt stuck to her skin as she uselessly flapped her hand around her face. It had been stupidly hot all day and she was still suffering. Did she smell? God, she hoped she didn’t. Her nose twitched as she inhaled deeply but any scent of hers was masked by the overwhelming mix of dust, engine oil and musk that was the London underground.