Give me a Break
By: Virginia Allen The woman sitting down at the desk could have certainly had a better day. She pushed her large, black-rimmed glasses up her too flat nose once again (she had already repeated the action about a dozen to a million times; she had lost count long ago) as if that would help clear her mind, or fill it full of ideas, more like. She could have been doing about a million things, other than grow ditzy with her blank canvas of a mind, the more you observed her. She had frizzy brunette hair which she hadn’t bothered to run her aquamarine come through before she shoved it behind her ears, she obviously hadn’t finished washing off her makeup by the streak of mascara you saw smudged off her face in her sleep (as if she would ever), or her plain throw-on clothes of old sweats topped with a T-shirt that said “I’m not an old, I’m a classic.” Maybe she should find an escape in a story created by herself, she obviously needs it just by her mundane appearance. She was like “The Little...