Laura pulled the hamster back to her and cradled it against her chest unconsciously. She didn't know this, but it made her look younger than she was, even in her leather jacket with eyeliner rubbed darkly around her eyes. People could forget how small she was, most of the time, but then she'd do things that would remind them of that. She held small, soft things protectively whenever she did hold them, not thinking of the puppy that once was hers for an hour. She still feels uncomfortable when she looks at dogs.
"Is there a jury to judge broom tickets?" Laura felt the corner of her mouth tugging improbably upwards--it must have been the reference to New York that did it, the city she had learned so well even when she was wrapped in its ugly belly. There was nowhere like it in the world. It had been her cage, once, but once she had set herself free it was--familiar. So she could understand the joke about people in New York having cars. That felt good in a way that danced beyond the tip of her tongue.