"I'm a hat woman" said the stranger seated opposite me on the train, referring to the blue and red hat perched on her knee.
"Off to Ascot then". I said facetiously.
Thoughtfully she fingered the rim of the hat. "No she said; but I know where you are going." The gunshot blew the crown off the hat and I slumped to the floor.
The blood seeped through my fingers clutching at the wound. A veil fell over the woman's face and the ruined hat fell deeper into shadow.
Then I remembered.
(Written at the NFFD workshop, Winchester, May 12th 2012)