no fate but what we make
WHO: Sarah Connor & __________
WHERE: Cafe Habana
WHEN: Fuzzied from anytime this morning to the afternoon.
WARNINGS: Sarah Connor mouth. Robots. Death. Whatever.
SUMMARY: Smoking, and lots of coffee, lots of thinking.
FORMAT: Paragraph
Sarah decided that 57°F was good enough for am off-white sweater and dark jeans--and coffee outside where she could watch people. The City, as always was a buzz and hum of activity, the streets packed in a steady flow of people, noise, and, today, heavier coats in the anticipation of rain. It wasn't going to rain today, though. She pulled her coffee cup closer, took a sip, and then flicked her cigarette over the black plastic ash tray she'd been given. It was far enough away from the building proper to be considered 'smoking distance' -- not that she gave a shit. The thick, fluffy clouds that hung over the city weren't threatening and she glanced up through the gaps in the buildings to watch them shift with the wind.
She almost wanted a storm.
The streets took on a glossy, light-spattered look late at night when the rain slicked them. The pooling yellows and greens were her favorite, but the red looked like blood, reminded her of the red, red eyes of a Terminator. She watched someone in a bright red trench coat walk past and let out a breath. There were no Terminators here. But there was metal of a different kind--metal men wanted to play with. To turn to their own purposes. She chewed at her lip for a moment and balefully picked at the crust of her sandwich.
No one listened. Not really. It was her dream all over again, shaking that fucking chain link fence while children played games, shrieked as Mommy pushed them higher on the swing set. No one could hear her screaming, no one heard her warning. No one would hear it until fire lit the sky, bright, brighter. No one would hear it until it was too late. Her stomach churned as she stared off into the distance and the wind rustled her hair. She'd stopped scribbling notes on her case.
The words "NO FATE" were scratched unevenly across the page, but Sarah was staring elsewhere.
WHERE: Cafe Habana
WHEN: Fuzzied from anytime this morning to the afternoon.
WARNINGS: Sarah Connor mouth. Robots. Death. Whatever.
SUMMARY: Smoking, and lots of coffee, lots of thinking.
FORMAT: Paragraph
Sarah decided that 57°F was good enough for am off-white sweater and dark jeans--and coffee outside where she could watch people. The City, as always was a buzz and hum of activity, the streets packed in a steady flow of people, noise, and, today, heavier coats in the anticipation of rain. It wasn't going to rain today, though. She pulled her coffee cup closer, took a sip, and then flicked her cigarette over the black plastic ash tray she'd been given. It was far enough away from the building proper to be considered 'smoking distance' -- not that she gave a shit. The thick, fluffy clouds that hung over the city weren't threatening and she glanced up through the gaps in the buildings to watch them shift with the wind.
She almost wanted a storm.
The streets took on a glossy, light-spattered look late at night when the rain slicked them. The pooling yellows and greens were her favorite, but the red looked like blood, reminded her of the red, red eyes of a Terminator. She watched someone in a bright red trench coat walk past and let out a breath. There were no Terminators here. But there was metal of a different kind--metal men wanted to play with. To turn to their own purposes. She chewed at her lip for a moment and balefully picked at the crust of her sandwich.
No one listened. Not really. It was her dream all over again, shaking that fucking chain link fence while children played games, shrieked as Mommy pushed them higher on the swing set. No one could hear her screaming, no one heard her warning. No one would hear it until fire lit the sky, bright, brighter. No one would hear it until it was too late. Her stomach churned as she stared off into the distance and the wind rustled her hair. She'd stopped scribbling notes on her case.
The words "NO FATE" were scratched unevenly across the page, but Sarah was staring elsewhere.