I can let my hair down
Standing on the balcony she looks out over the small courtyard, the starbucks, the stage and the benches beyond that. Looking almost wistful she takes a drag on her cigarette and holds the smoke in her lungs for a minute. As plumes of gray vapor twist and swirl out of her nose and mouth she takes a step towards the steps. Her step is brisk, determined but not spiteful. Easily slipping through the throngs of people on the sidewalk she makes her way toward the market. Her long gray jacket billows with the wind around her ankles and hugs her body at her hips, clad in muted green and white striped pants. Three streets and as many blocks later she ducks into the pungent smell of fish and flowers, surrounded by noisy bustling people, buying and selling anything from pocket watches to fresh caught fish. Winding through crowds has always come naturally to her, like a river in its snaking canyon. Down stairs and away from the source of the fishy smell she walks out into another stairwell, though this one is exposed to nature. And I have no idea where this is going. Ideas?