Sandra

Sandra stretched out on the old couch like a waking kitten. Her smooth, pale skin glowed in the light of the television. Pot smoke and Nag Champa incense hung in the air. She wore low riding camoflague cargo pants and a black "Primus" tanktop. Her wavy red hair was held up by a black bandana. Hints of glitter sparkled as the TV images shifted in the dark apartment. Her toenails were painted with little peace symbols and Grateful Dead bears. A huge wall tapestry of Jim Morrison loomed over the lava lamps that surrounded an authentic, 17th century hooka. She rolled off the couch and arched her back slowly. She lifted her arms above her head and let her body relax into a Yoga stretch. She slowly leaned forward, putting her hands down on the shag carpet floor and sticking her ass up in the air while putting her forehead on the floor. Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door.
"Oh shit." she said to herself, and sighed. "Just a minute." She called out as she hopped up. She loped over to the door, said
"Who is it?