[ WP ] Rewrite your favorite song as a story .

Bob Dylan - Just Like A Woman 
 
 Her golden hair sparkled in the late afternoon sun. Boots clicked on the pavement with each step she took, smiling eyes looking right into Jon's. 
 `` Your note said to meet you here.'' She said. 
 Jon nodded. 
 A hint of a grin played on her painted pink lips. 
 `` Well, what's up?'' 
 Jon inhaled, and addressed the space above her left shoulder. 
 `` Thing is Clara, we've been friends for ages. And I like you, I really like you. and I'm sorry I never told you before. But you're leaving and... I just wanted you to know.'' 
 He chanced a look. Clara's expression had n't changed one bit. 
 
 `` Anyway, I got you this'' 
 He said, and handed her a a little wrapped box 
 `` Thanks so much Jon!'' She said, with the same dazzling sheen in her eyes. She took the box and put it in her handbag. 
 Leaning forward, Clara pecked him on the cheek. `` You're really sweet. Take care of yourself.'' 
 Flashing supernova of a smile, she turned on her heel and walked back up the street, her buttery hair gently buffeted by the breeze. 
 
 *************** 
 
 The nightclub thronged with people, the floor thumping with each beat of music. Everyone caught in strobe-light stop motion. People looked at Clara, who did n't look at anyone. She danced, she laughed, she said hi to boys and bye five minutes later. 
 She walked up to a tall, thin man. He turned around, `` Hi.'' 
 She smiled `` Take me home?'' 
 
 
 ************************* 
 `` Well goodbye, then'' 
 The thin man looked at her while putting his pants on `` I live really far, y'know'' 
 
 `` You're a big boy, I'm sure you can handle yourself'' She walked up to him, and put a hand on his arm. At first he thought she'd changed her mind, but very gently, she began to lead him to the front door. 
 
 `` I had a great time.'' She kissed him on the cheek, and smiled. 
 
 ***************************** 
 
 The room was dark but for the light of her iPhone, framing her cheeks in harsh white. The sounds of the late night traveled in from thew street. A car horn, the sound of drunks, laughter. 
 
 Every few seconds, a teardrop fell from her chin down onto the duvet. The phone screen said that it was dialing MOM. No answer. Then Clara tried DAD. Three rings and a busy tone. 
 She lay down, her sobs now louder, and shook gently as she wrapped herself in a blanket.
