There's a cart of groceries. She reminds herself she's shopping. For food. Stuff. Things that make sense somewhere. She doesn't have a list. Lists are for people who make plans. She doesn't have plans. She doesn't want any more plans. Plans die.
The air moves around her. Parting like water for a boat. Not a big boat. Maybe a kayak. Solitary and insignificant and she can't tell if she's the kayak or the person in the kayak. Either way, she walks.
The hollow woman sighs.
More like she moves air with her body, or kayak, or whatever she is. Sighs carry significance and this breath has none. It's just air.
The hollow woman waits.
There are people moving more slowly than her. Than her. The Hollow Woman doesn't care about grammar. She's just waiting for those two ships full of cargo and noise to get out of her way. Decide on a queue. Move on. Out of her way.
The hollow woman is quiet.
Despite the small talk. Lips smile but face doesn't. Eyes fixed on the things that beep as they go by. She trades beeps for bags and parts more air. She feels it. The air. On skin that doesn't feel like her. Maybe she really is
Just a kayak.
On an ocean.
Parting air.
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