Brandi was twenty-three years old with dirty-blonde hair, light blue eyes and a tattoo of an eagle on her right arm. Her black shirt was no longer clean and her jeans had holes at the knees. On her feet were black sneakers with holes worn in them from the miles she'd walked. With a back pack slung over her shoulders, she headed into a small store on the side of the road to buy something to drink.
Looking around, she noticed the floors were dusty. The old man with the broom was leaning instead of sweeping, as if he needed it to keep himself from falling.