chloe is sitting on the curb, her feet out in front of her between two safely parked cars that aren't gonna roll over her. she blows smoke out of her mouth, reveling in the way it curls around the clean, spring air.

by a twist of fate, when her eyes drift back down to stare blankly across the road, they land on you. you're exiting the bookstore, and she's lucky enough to spot you.

god, you're sitting on the bench, right across the street. it's fucking stupid, but she has to talk to you.