25 Hour Watch

She climbed, she slipped. Scrapes covered her legs and the palms of both hands. The ragged bottom of her cocktail dress chaffed at her thighs. Every inch of skin was covered in dull grey dust, accented here and there by rivulets of muddy sweat streaks. Her hair had come loose from its mass of pinned blonde strands, clumps of which dangled across her cheeks and curled down the back of her neck. The sticky smell of hairspray clung to each follicle, its scent sickening in the heat.
She studied her path in fleeting glances between short, exhausted strides. Light from the afternoon sun glinted harshly off glass as she honed in on the building that could save her. It was larger, grander than expected. Lots of large windows and stained wood planks that labeled it a retreat for someone with dollars to spend. Someone who valued their privacy.
Good. At the moment, she did too. No one would look for her here.