Checking the worn face of her wristwatch, she felt her tense shoulders drop just a fraction of an inch. She had managed to carve out enough time to grab a quick, soothing drink before stepping into the interview gauntlet. Coffee was strictly out of the question—she was already way too jittery. A warm cup of tea would have to do the trick.
As the train rattled along the tracks, Valerie compulsively double-checked the contents of her leather bag. Her perfectly formatted resume, a solid list of professional references, her state ID—everything was neatly tucked exactly where it needed to be. She let out another soft sigh, her tired eyes wandering over the other passengers sharing the subway car. They all seemed so incredibly carefree, mindlessly scrolling through their glowing phone screens, clearly not sweating bullets over a make-or-break, life-altering interview.
Exactly half an hour later, she confidently stepped off the train at the Monroe station, immediately spotting the sleek, towering glass office building sitting intimidatingly across the street. Realizing she still had a solid thirty minutes to spare, she quickly ducked into a familiar, bustling Starbucks situated right on the corner. After politely ordering a piping hot chamomile tea, she settled herself into a quiet, secluded corner table and stared out the large pane glass window.
The city of Chicago pulsed with a chaotic, electric energy—bright yellow cabs angrily honking their horns, throngs of stressed pedestrians rushing down the pavement. It was a beautiful, ruthless city that absolutely didn’t care about her quiet, desperate struggles. In the few short months she had been living here, she had learned one crucial, undeniable fact: nobody hands you anything on a silver platter. Well, nobody except Zoe. Thank God for Zoe.
Taking a slow, careful sip of her aromatic tea, Valerie quietly rehearsed her professional pitch under her breath. She absolutely had to make sure to mention her impressive top performer bonuses from her previous job managing a busy grocery chain back in Peoria. She also mentally flagged the extra financial incentives she had rightfully earned for completely smashing her quarterly sales goals. Those hard-won achievements simply had to count for something.
She opened her eyes, casually glancing out the window at the bustling street, when a sudden, jarring movement violently yanked her attention. Directly across the busy street, baking under the sweltering heat of an oppressively humid August afternoon where the air felt thick and heavy as molasses, an older gentleman suddenly clutched his chest in agony and violently slumped against the rough texture of a brick wall.
Without a single second of hesitation, Valerie instinctively tossed a few crumpled dollar bills onto the small table and bolted out the glass doors of the busy café. Expertly dodging through the dangerous flow of oncoming traffic, she desperately sprinted toward the man, who was very clearly in a state of severe medical distress. Dozens of busy passersby just kept right on walking, not even bothering to cast a single, fleeting glance in his direction. Valerie’s heart instantly plummeted at the sheer, terrifying indifference of the massive city.
“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, dropping to her knees right there on the scorching concrete.
The man let out a soft, agonizing groan. His knuckles were bone-white as he desperately clutched a crumpled manila folder to his chest. Valerie gently pried the folder from his rigid grip and set it aside on the pavement. Her fingers moved quickly, loosening the tight knot of his silk tie to give him some air. Digging frantically into her leather tote bag, she yanked out her half-empty water bottle and carefully tipped it toward his pale lips.
The brutal August heat was absolutely unforgiving, baking the city sidewalks until the pavement itself radiated a thick, suffocating warmth. It was a miracle half the city hadn’t passed out already.
“Pills…” he rasped, his voice barely more than a dry whisper. “In my briefcase.”
Valerie lunged for his expensive leather bag, her own hands shaking uncontrollably as she rifled through the neat compartments. Finally, her fingers closed around a small, familiar orange prescription bottle. She fumbled clumsily with the childproof cap, her palms slick with nervous sweat, until it finally popped open. She shook two tiny pills into his palm, but his hands were trembling so violently that the medication immediately slipped through his fingers and bounced away into the dirty gutter.
“Hold on, I’ve got it,” she said, her voice tight with panic.
Comments are closed.