F was facing the worst, most fearsome experience of her life. As she drove, the leather of the stirring wheel got soaked on hand sweat and her feet felt shaky and uncontrolled as she pressed the break in each of the curves. The night seemed unnaturally dark and the highway more isolated, F could only distinguish in the distance a group of buildings of an abandoned shoe factory that reminded her of Norman Bates’ home. A car passed her by with a hiss but no one seemed to notice what she saw.
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