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Description
               The woman's face leaned forward as she worked on her laptop. Her perfectly manicured hands held her face as she propped herself up on an elbow. She tried hard not to rub her eyes, for then the dark lavender eyeshadow would aggravate the already prominent dark shadows under them. Instead, she shifted in her booth again, rearranging the monotone, ruffled dress and smoothing out the dark leggings. She placed one foot atop her other knee, for she had let her black flat slip off one centimeter to far. Her delicate fingers brushed  her high-placed and delicate cheekbones on their way to her hairline, and as she rested she glanced up at the gruff businessman who walked by.

               She smoothed a few sinfully unruly strands of ginger hair behind her ear. Her shining, onyx earrings swung like Grandfather pendulums, as if whispering the time into her ear. Her dimmed olive eyes darted across the screen, to the ceiling, to the the woman walking out of the shop, and then back to the screen as she rested her left hand on her leg and typed sluggishly with the other. After typing one key repeatedly with her slender index finger, she ran a hand through her sleek ponytail and decided that it had to be redone. Her thin, long arms moved in a fluid manner, and as she created her strict arrangement of hair strands she sat ramrod straight and stared ahead with resolution. As she finished preening herself, she looked around warily – as if she were afraid to have been seen during such a loss of composure.

               Something important caught her attention on the screen – she suddenly seemed to regain focus, and started ticking off amounts or numbers of something only she would know. Her lips moved ever so slightly as she talked to herself; she tapped the table with two fingers on each word as she glanced up at the ceiling in thought. Soon, though, a waiter passed her table and she glanced up. She cleaned her nails, she fidgeted with the silver fantasy on her right ring finger – and then a man in a scarlet polo approaches her. With some hesitancy, she gets up. She rearranges the ruffles of her charcoal dress, puts her flats back on, and places her sunglasses strategically atop that tight enslavement of the color orange. She collects her belongings and, now perfectly composed, she joins a group of co-workers at another table. With these men and women, her perfect grin and her bell-like laugh never seem to reach her eyes. But when a young girl walked by and their eyes met....

               Her lips, thin and wide for her face, only ever curl into one genuine but tiny smile.

Description
               The woman's face leaned forward as she worked on her laptop. Her perfectly manicured hands held her face as she propped herself up on an elbow. She tried hard not to rub her eyes, for then the dark lavender eyeshadow would aggravate the already prominent dark shadows under them. Instead, she shifted in her booth again, rearranging the monotone, ruffled dress and smoothing out the dark leggings. She placed one foot atop her other knee, for she had let her black flat slip off one centimeter to far. Her delicate fingers brushed  her high-placed and delicate cheekbones on their way to her hairline, and as she rested she glanced up at the gruff businessman who walked by.

               She smoothed a few sinfully unruly strands of ginger hair behind her ear. Her shining, onyx earrings swung like Grandfather pendulums, as if whispering the time into her ear. Her dimmed olive eyes darted across the screen, to the ceiling, to the the woman walking out of the shop, and then back to the screen as she rested her left hand on her leg and typed sluggishly with the other. After typing one key repeatedly with her slender index finger, she ran a hand through her sleek ponytail and decided that it had to be redone. Her thin, long arms moved in a fluid manner, and as she created her strict arrangement of hair strands she sat ramrod straight and stared ahead with resolution. As she finished preening herself, she looked around warily – as if she were afraid to have been seen during such a loss of composure.

               Something important caught her attention on the screen – she suddenly seemed to regain focus, and started ticking off amounts or numbers of something only she would know. Her lips moved ever so slightly as she talked to herself; she tapped the table with two fingers on each word as she glanced up at the ceiling in thought. Soon, though, a waiter passed her table and she glanced up. She cleaned her nails, she fidgeted with the silver fantasy on her right ring finger – and then a man in a scarlet polo approaches her. With some hesitancy, she gets up. She rearranges the ruffles of her charcoal dress, puts her flats back on, and places her sunglasses strategically atop that tight enslavement of the color orange. She collects her belongings and, now perfectly composed, she joins a group of co-workers at another table. With these men and women, her perfect grin and her bell-like laugh never seem to reach her eyes. But when a young girl walked by and their eyes met....

               Her lips, thin and wide for her face, only ever curl into one genuine but tiny smile.