It might have been nearly 10 years but she had recognised him instantly. That sly little smirk, those narrow, evil eyes - there were a few wrinkles, a few grey hairs, but it was him.
He'd mugged her in broad daylight and left her trapped in her home for a year, afraid to go out, unable to sleep, terrified of every sound.
And now here he was, in her shop, drinking her wine.
'This is a crisp, dry white wine from California,' she smiled, handing him the last glass on the tray. 'Gargle properly to get all the flavours. And spit - or not!' She winked at him.
He chose not to spit, just as she hoped. He might never know but revenge really was a piece of piss.
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