I stalled to allow Sofia to come to her senses.
Surely she can't mean that she could simply look at someone's attire and discern the type of person he/she was. That's simply absurd. Unheard of, even.
In this world of ours, such abilities don't exist.
But the proud bitch didn't, instead she stared at me in defiance. Her stance saying, "Bring it on".
Who do you want me to read? She had asked.
Leaning forward, my eyes traveling the length of her,
"Tell me, Sofia, how do you plan to
'read someone' when you can't even dress yourself?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
Sofia's flushed, but she maintained her composure,
"I'd rather not discuss my personal style, Richard. It's irrelevant to my qualifications."
I chuckled. She was really funny.
