The girl with the purple lipstick sauntered up the street from the Metro entrance. Her black jacket was fashionably cut, but not ostentatious. The sleeves finished above the wrist and showed off the cuff of a T-shirt in a matching shade of purple. A violent Violet. That’s how I thought of her. I knew where she was headed, too. I’d be heading there myself shortly. And she would be there, as immaculately dressed and remote as she looked now, those perfectly formed, perfectly painted lips calling me.