Rain fell in endless sheets upon the pavement as a hooded figure walked staunchly forward. The figure's face was pointed downward, and it was clear by the way they were walking that they were less than pleased to be out in the elements.
The sun had set hours before, and the streetlights reflected eerily against the slick road. The sidewalks were almost entirely empty, though a person or two could be glimpsed for a few fleeting seconds while they charged out of one of the surrounding buildings and into a parked car or taxi. The person walking down the street was effectively alone, however, and it was apparent that they were lost by the way they raised their head periodically to peer at the street signs.
A dull glow sprang up against the hooded figure's chest in the form of a handheld screen. In the gloom, against a wall of darkened storefront glass, a small, grumpy face glared at the screen in contempt.
"Where the fuck am I?" A woman's voice muttered, barely audible even to herself over the sound of the rain. She attempted to shield the screen as best she could as her wet thumbs struggled to type a street address that she'd never been to.
At the top right portion of the screen, a small bar indicated that she was on roaming, and she cursed as she waited nearly a full minute for a map to load. Finally, it blipped up on the screen and she winced down at it before sighing heavily, "God... I'm not even on the right side of town," she muttered with mixed sadness and frustration.
A cold breeze came by and iced through her as she shivered. She had a late interview dinner lined up with the owner of an art gallery that was interested in displaying some of her pieces. She had been so excited by the prospect that she'd hastily agreed to meet the owner at a restaurant she'd never been to... in a town she'd never even so much as laid eyes on. Her train had been late, and to top it off, she'd gotten off at the wrong stop. She had no umbrella and nothing with her except a portfolio that was tucked beneath her already soaked hoodie. She grit her teeth as another gust of wind went through her, "Well, if I die out here it's not gonna matter either way," she told herself as she looked down at her phone. The one sad bar that depicted the faintest stream of data was gone; now she didn't even have enough reception to make a phone call. She shook her head as she looked around, "I'm just gonna have to bite the bullet and get a cab," she told no one but herself as she continued to walk.
"Stupid quaint small town," she commented as she looked over the dark main road. She could make out the store hours signs in some of the windows that she passed, and most places had been closed for a while, many even before the sun set. She cast a long gaze toward the end of the street, as far as the weather allowed, and concluded that she wouldn't have much luck if she went any further. It seemed that the road only led to a more suburban looking area, and as desperate as she was beginning to feel, she wasn't quite ready to start knocking on strangers' doors in the late hours of the night.
She turned her head to the left and realized that she was standing just outside of a small alleyway between buildings. She turned and furrowed her brow toward it before correcting her thinking: it wasn't an alleyway, exactly, but more like a very narrow street. That in of itself wasn't enough to incite interest, but at the end of the alleyway there appeared to be some sort of cafe or bistro entrance. There was an inviting, soft yellow light hovering over a chalk sign, and she took a step toward it as she murmured, "Oh good, at least someone is open."
As she drew closer, she read the sign aloud, as was a habit of hers, "The solitary Cafe...hm," the sign was well drawn with colored chalk, but somehow it hadn't been touched by the rain and wasn't at all faded or runny.
The woman shrugged and pulled the door open; it seemed as good a place as any to try and make a phone call.
"Hi there, welcome to the Solitary Cafe."
The hooded woman was immediately greeted as she walked in, but she was too busy wiping water out of her eyes to respond right away, "Oh...hi. I uh, don't suppose you have..." she looked up and saw the girl that had greeted her and she almost coughed, "A phone I could use?"
The girl was standing behind a counter some ways off from the entrance, but even from where the soggy artist stood it was clear that she was well dressed, perhaps overly so, "Sure. Why don't you come inside and dry off a bit; there's a heater in the corner there," she said, nodding in that direction.
"I appreciate it, but I'm kind of in a rush, I'm afraid."
The girl nodded, "I understand completely. Let me go into the office and see if you can borrow my boss's phone," she said with a smile as she came out from behind the counter.
The hooded woman looked over the girl as she walked off. She'd never really been attracted to the same sex, but the girl was alluring. The barista, which is what the woman assumed she was, was wearing a black tuxedo cut blazer with a matching bowtie. Instead of pants, she wore a black mini skirt and white leggings with elegant black flats. It was an odd outfit, but it was sexy and very flattering to the girl's figure. The artist caught herself staring at the girl's legs and wondered what her nationality was absently. It was a strange habit of hers that she'd developed at a young age, and since blending colors for skin tones was something she prided herself on, she always tried to guess when she saw interesting or attractive people.
The barista disappeared into the back of the cafe and the artist looked around. She flipped her hoodie down as she did so, revealing a pale faced woman that might have been in her early thirties. From the looks of her, it was clear that she was an artist of some sort, thought at that moment she looked particularly disgruntled.
The first thing that the soaked artist noticed was that there were no customers in the store. A soft stream of smooth jazz piano could be heard from some hidden speakers, and she shook some of the excess water from her clothing as she examined the cafe more closely.
She wondered immediately how she hadn't seen it before, but there were rubber ducks everywhere. They were sitting atop almost everything that had a flat surface, and their little orange beaks and yellow bodies could be seen dotted all over the booths and tables. As if that weren't odd enough, there were paintings of ducks on the walls as well.
"What the hell?" She whispered to herself. It wasn't bad art, in fact, most of it was expertly painted, but she wondered who would go out of their way to actually paint a rubber duck.
She didn't reflect on the point for very long, because the barista returned and walked straight toward her.
"You can come on back and use the phone," the tuxedoed girl said with a wide, flawless smile.
The artist took a closer look at the girl and almost stepped back when she saw her alarming blue green eyes, "Oh, thanks a lot."
"My pleasure. Follow me," the barista offered as she turned.
The artist did so. She stole another opportunity to look at the girl, focusing particularly on her hair style. The barista's hair was short and black; the artist assumed that it was probably naturally curly, but the girl had straightened it and was wearing it down. She followed behind the girl for several steps, secretly examining her, before the girl turned her head slightly, "I'm Pakistani."
"What?" The artist replied, somewhat startled.
"My ethnicity. My parents are from Pakistan," the girl laughed lightly, and to the artist it sounded like music, "I thought you might like to know."
The woman in the frumpy hoody frowned and attempted to recover from her confusion. It had seemed like the most random statement that a total stranger could make to her, then she remembered that she'd been asking the question to herself only moments before. A bit of uneasiness came over her and she wondered if the girl had somehow caught her staring. Once more however, she didn't have any time to reflect on it.
