The man sitting next to her cracked open a pistachio.

She tried to ignore him, went back to the top of the page and re-read it. This was her only day off, to do whatever she wanted, and all she wanted was to sit on this bench and finish the book she’d being carrying around for the last few months.

The wind blew softly, rustling the leaves of the maple tress, her hair and the corners of her paperback.

The world slipped away. Absolutely nothing existed but her and the words on the page.

The man cracked open another pistachio.


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