She sat at the corner table, near the door, staring out the window at the droplets splashing against the asphalt. It was pouring down with no intention of stopping; as if the San Francisco clouds were determined to wash away all the city’s debris. The Internet in the little neighborhood café had cut out, and she turned to gaze at the ever-loading blank screen.
Despite the rain, tourists kept coming in. Something about the cable cars on a rainy day seemed to catch their attention. Whatever it was that got them out in the rain, she wanted no part of it. She was content wrapped in her oversized wool sweater, sipping on her hot mocha, and had no desire to walk the block and a half back home to use the Internet.
It was a typical Monday afternoon, and she should have been sitting at her desk in the office, replying to the many emails she received each day. But since she had left that desk and those emails behind, there was no such thing as a typical Monday anymore. Nowadays, she had all the time in the world to be who she wanted to be. Although, the person she wanted to be enjoyed adventures that involved some kind of financial substance. And with an endless supply of rejection letters, money was hard to come by.
As she watched a van full of children unload outside of the café, she felt a tightening in her throat. It was possible that the feeling sprung from allergies stirred up by the rain, but equally possible that it was her nerves getting at her again. These rainy days always did a fine job at digging down deep and conjuring up old memories. Searching for a job was as tedious and heart breaking as searching for the perfect lover. She was starting to waver – to feel the desperation setting in. And she knew too well how unattractive desperation was.