Kelly

📓 She wore black that night too, black silk. I had never seen her in black, let alone silk. I knew a young lady in jeans, boots, the torn-and-worn look favored by her generation. Her hair flowed loosely to her shoulders, the way it does now. This evening it is curly permanent waved at the ends, a style older parties like me are not sure they approve of. Very damned daring of the lady at this moment in her life and career, I'd say. But then Kelly Armstrong was always very damned daring, if only as is a race-driver passing a car at one hundred thirty miles per hour: any successful challenger assesses the chances and the possibilities, and knows to make the move only when reason and instinct join forces.