She was tired of waiting.
She was tired of all the heartache.
She called the connector-guy who could get the Nembutal
She’d done the research.
She hoped it wasn’t some kind of knock-off.
She wondered when or sometimes if, but
She knew the time would come.
What would her daughter say?
“She didn’t even wait to say goodbye.”
“Why?”
If anyone else wanted a note they either weren’t paying attention or were in denial.
She took herself to the usual place.
She looked at all the average people with their nondescript clothing and their general mundanity.
She thought about the lady who brought her dinner - always friendly, always warm.
She thought about her dog. It had been a few years now.
She thought about the barman for the last time. She took his recommendation for dinner.
She heard the conversation at the next table. Most men think they don’t have to convert their half-baked currency for women.
She thought about her mother for a split second.
She would not think about her daughter.
She thought about the home she’d made, and loved it.
She would not think about her daughter.
She thought about a few friends at work, the connector-guy, everyone who’d done good things ...
She looked at what she’d brought.
She thought about the person she loved, but who didn’t know.
She looked at the glass.
She didn’t have far to go to the car.
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