She sits there with a cup of coffee, a book in hand.


Minutes passed, a page of the book is turned. She glances at her watch and takes a sip of her coffee.


People continue to pass her by. She watches them. They come and go. Some stay for a while, some leave quickly.


She turns to her book again, drowns herself in the words. Falling, feeling. 


Another page is turned.


"You're coffee's getting cold," someone says. She looks up and shrugs nonchalantly.


"Took you long enough," she says. "The coffee isn't the only one getting cold." 


A coat is offered in apology. It was ignored.


She stands up to leave. The coffee cup was half-empty, the book unfinished.