Bound by business, fueled by desire.

ANA'

e of really similar words for these kinds of letters. They usually always begin with "We are sorry to say" or "We apologize for" or something along those lines. Always sorry, always

ails digging into my palms. This was unfair- all of this. My eyes slowly begin to water as I wi

so I won't end up bawling in the middle of this almost unnoticeable, but cha

a young couple holding hands and whispering to each other a few seats away. We hold gazes for a few seconds longer, with neither of us even blinking. I s

slowly breaks into a small smile. And in the depths of his ashen

er in a frown. As if on cue, the brown haired waitress who had taken my order a fe

int Irish lilt to her words, her honey brown eyes stari

ou," I respon

e tea helped and probably the kind smile I received from the older man sitting close to me. I need to pick myself up and try again at finding another corporation looking to hire. I can't contin

come up with. She's always been goofy, that one. Thinking about her now reminds me

a short greeting while downing the rest of my still hot tea. It burned, but I did

dark brown boots making slight noises as the heels meet the floor, I turn and stare again at the gray eyed man. As if feeling my gaze, he turns away from the newspaper he was reading and sta

headache beginning to bear down on me. The cold almost always inflicts me with headaches of varying degrees. I'm still not sure

s really cold and this down jacket I wore wasn't quite warm enough, I turned my bare palm outwards and a few flakes of snow fell into it