Rubbing her now-oily forehead, she waited by the sidewalk in search of a cab.
Cracking her fingers with her thumb only made the time pass 1/9th percent faster, leading to looking up from the pavement and making eye contact with strangers.
Mistake. Eye contact bubbled something acidic in her veins, gave her an internal itch to look at anthing else.
She pulled a now-probably-stale cookie from her bag's secret pocket and tore it like Pangaea, only eating one continent. Hailing cabs shouldn't be this difficult on a semi-busy Chicago thursday night. She pictured tiny yellow cars falling gracefully from the clouds, slow motion spins and turns. Precipitation Transportation.
"I think I'll walk" she said to absolutely everyone and no one.
Created: Mar 19, 2014luna_21 Document Media