While Maggie was stowing her cello – or at least attempting to – she caught sight of her tattooed wrist.  It was the day she had been dreading for some years now, and she still hoped she would be able to avoid it.  Maggie wondered if it was possible, to avoid meeting your supposed ‘soul mate’, and how she would be able to do so.  She had a plan to go straight home and not answer the door to anyone, not even a neighbor.  She stepped out into the city and took a breath of air, though she wasn’t pleased with it.  She could do with more less smoke and more humidity, but she knew she hoped in vain.  Her apartment was near the river, though it was so polluted it occasionally looked green; it provided her comfort, no matter the quality.  

Her blue eyes moved to the sky and saw dark clouds gathering in the distance.  She scowled, readjusted the purse on her shoulder, and briskly set off toward her home.  It wasn’t but a few minutes until the clouds had caught up with her and she felt a sprinkle.  The grimace on her lips deepened as she held out her palm and immediately felt another drop.  Maggie sighed disappointedly and looked around finding a small café across the street.  It took a few minutes to cross the busy road but she managed to get inside before being bombarded by any more rain.  

Maggie ran a hand through her shoulder length black hair.  She cursed it as she pulled a few strands to her eyes, noting how frizzy and wavy it now was.  She figured while she was here she could grab a drink and stay away from everyone, but as she brought her arm down she felt a light burning sensation on the inside of her wrist.  [color=teal]”Fuck”[/color], she muttered, her eyes scanning the population of the café.  Her eyes found a man with longish dark and a shirt that had some writing on it.  [i]Fuck bitches[/i], it said.  Classy.  Maggie moved to the barista bar and paid for a hot, black tea with a drop of milk and a few sugars before finding a seat near the window.