She struggled to walk. There wasn't anything physically wrong with her, but her mind was unwilling. Her eyes were sunken, staring at her own feet for no good reason. The aged concrete of the side walk was cracked and uneven. Her shoes didn't appear to be moving at all.

She sighed and closed her eyes. Her head collapsed into her chest. She exhaled and felt her chin rising with the rest of her head in pursuit. She opened her eyes and saw the world. She was unimpressed.

Her footsteps were silent to her own ears. There was a buzzing of leftover shouting and doubting. She almost ached for the ringing in her ears from going to a concert. Almost.

She decided that half a block was long enough and sat down to smoke a cigarette. The lit ember dangled from her fingers, hardly touched. She didn’t actually feel like smoking any more than she felt like walking, but she had to do something.

She glanced down and saw a small flower poking its head out of a rambling set of weeds piling up against the old wall next her. It somehow had risen above, seeking out the sun. The old wall seemed less impressive, hardly standing with its paint chipped and seemingly ready to fall any moment.

She wanted to do something, so she stood and started walking.