| She walked down the street, head filled with songs�humming�humming a tune too close to, too familiar with herself. Her lips pursed, cheeks in, somehow preparing her for the day ahead, preparing her for the confrontation. She didn�t look up, no, she stared at the ground, as if in thought�as if thinking of something far beyond this world and its inhabitants. Each step, each footfall, like a stroke, caressing the air, a haughty sort of canter, gently mocking. And a thin fabric around her neck, adding that last touch of culture, that last instance of well-read wardrobe to her ensemble. Everyone she blatently, accidentally taunts wishing somehow that slip of cloth would wind itself round some passing object, and pull tightly round her neck. |
 |
 |