Destination

Oh, well. Brian has decided upon the faded indigo tie with the charcoal grey medallions. She walked out of the airport with her backpack and shoulder bag and stood on the median. Cabs and cars and buses crawled by, lingering, then rolling on, full or empty in accordance with their destination. At first she was afraid, the kind of fear that pinned her chest, held her breath hard, made her eyes bulge and pulse. She looked down, closed her eyes, willed herself to inhale slowly. Inside her boots, she curled her toes. When she opened her eyes, she felt calmer. It was chilly. She buttoned up the old denim jacket, the metal buttons dull and worn from overuse, and wound the scarf around her neck a few times. Without waiting for traffic to clear, she stepped off the curb.