As I rolled smoothly down the cool glass, I saw her walking towards the car. She seemed rushed, anxious. The lightness of her geranium perfume was weighed down by the damp blanket of my brothers in arms. We fell heavy. It was so wet, I almost didn't see the single tear etching a secret glimpse past her polished, stoic expression. She was leaving for good this time.
The engine roared as her door slammed shut. "15th and Broadway" she muttered under her breath.
The driver looked young, too young maybe, but far too young to speak to this heiress. He sat up as straight as he could, keeping his grip locked on the black steering wheel. I watched her gaze up at the high rise out her window. Home. The only home she had ever known, but it was gone now, ruined. The car splashed through the puddled street as black wide umbrellas lined the sidewalks. So many feet sloshing along, so many places to get to. So many minds lost in their own frenzied worlds. Yet she sat perfectly still, wishing to trade lives with any one of them. Rich, poor, old, young, it didn't matter. To be anyone else today would be enough. Would be at least bearable.