The Last Exit

Tiffany Stars gripped the old Polaroid of her mother, crushing the photo in her sweaty palm as tears poured down her cheeks. The stall was small, and Tiffany was claustrophobic. The heat and heavy stench of urine and feces nearly suffocated her.

But anything was better than being out there.

The strip club had emptied of patrons by now. The gunfire had scared almost everyone away, except for the man chasing her. He wouldn’t give up. Not now. Not ever. Not until Tiffany was dead by his own hands.

She wiped her eyes, smoothed the photo, and crammed it back into her bikini top. Taking several deep breaths, she tried to calm her racing heart and focus amid the chaos.

The fire alarm wailed. It would only be a matter of time before the fire department showed up. The police as well.

But it would be too late.