Headphones in, eyes closed. She swayed slightly and tapped her foot to the sound of the music in such a way that I could almost feel the beat inside me. She was across the street, sitting on a partially white bench with large spots where the paint had began to peel, revealing the natural wood. It was a cold day. The first truly cold day of the year. The sky was hazy overhead, threatening to burst open and sprinkle a dusting of early snow.
But she was dressed warm. Short hair peeking out underneath a black-knit cap, her delicate neck wrapped in an over-large blue scarf. She was stunning. She didn’t belong on the graffiti-covered, old gum-encrusted bench. But there she was, every morning at the same time, in that same spot, listening to music intently. The world was blurred around her, and she didn’t seem to notice it.
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