As she approached, a woman came out of the bar, holding a drink in a plastic cup and still talking to someone inside. She laughed at whatever they said, and as she turned, her halo of glossy hair floated back as if in slow motion to reveal one of the most gorgeous women Greta had ever seen. She was white and very curvy, her brown hair a chin-length riot of buoyant curls. She had a large, angular nose, a pointy chin, and huge brown eyes exaggerated with smoky gray eyeshadow. Her mouth was a red moue.

She wore yellow lace tights under gray wool newsboy shorts, black boots, a black T-shirt worn to holes, and a burnt velvet jacket-robe thing in yellow, umber, and black florals.

She slid on large, heart-shaped red sunglasses and spoke softly to the miniature pony.

Before Greta knew what had propelled her, she was standing next to the woman.

“That’s a horse.” She cringed as the words left her mouth.

“Good eye,” the woman said. She was obviously making fun of Greta, but it felt friendly and welcoming rather than repelling.

“God, sorry,” Greta said. “It’s just, I think I saw it early this morning.” She pointed in the direction she thought Truman’s house lay in, then corrected herself and pointed the other way. “I just got here. To town. This town.”

The woman just let her talk.

“What I mean is I don’t really know if this is the kind of place where miniature horses are, like, a common pet, or if this is definitely the same horse I saw earlier.”

When the woman just smiled, Greta’s traitorous mouth supplied more and more words.

“It’s funny cuz this guy is named Horse.” She patted Horse’s head. “He’s not mine. I mean, I didn’t steal him. I just. I’m house-sitting. House swapping, really. It’s his. Dog. The person I swapped with.”

Why don’t you give her your ATM PIN and greatest insecurity while you’re at it, Greta?

Greta clamped her mouth shut and shook her head when more nervous chatter attempted to escape.

“This is Teacup. I’m Carys.” The woman held out her hand. “And you are?”

Greta shook her hand. “Greta. I’m Greta. Horse,” she said again, pointing at the dog.

“Greta and Horse. Got it. And you just got to town because you’re doing a house swap with a guy who lives in the Marigny. It’s your first time in New Orleans, and you don’t quite know your way around yet.”

“Yeah, that’s… Yup. Accurate.”

Realizing that she was still holding onto Carys’ hand, she forced herself to release it. Carys looked like a silent film star, with her dramatic nose, huge eyes, and lush pout of a mouth.

“You wanna see some more of it?”

“Huh? Oh. What?”