Shebundled herself with her eyes moving over the different items in hercubicle before she made sure to close the door behind her. Her fingerstested the door to make sure it was locked. It resisted her attempts toopening it. "Good," she muttered to herself before she made her way downthe stairs.The hair on the back of her neck stood on end when she felt a slightchill run through her. This place felt strange, her eyes roving over the2nd flood door when she passed it. There just felt like something waswrong and she couldn't shake it.Walking down the stairs faster meant that she almost tripped at the end.She caught herself before she quickly moved past the unfinished repairedelevator. Amy breezed through the closed front door to go outside. Thechill air still filled her lungs with a painful frozen sensation whenshe breathed through her scarf.Her stomach rebelled again with another rumble, and the gnawingsensation of hunger. Looking around the local stores she passed, shelooked to see. I'm drunk." Come on you two. Let's go downtown for Chinese to soak up the alcohol," said Amy."I'm sorry guys," said Mary in the taxi heading downtown sitting on my left while Amy held my hand at my right. "I like you two. Of the three of us, I like you." I don't understand," I said. "You're beautiful and intelligent. You seem to like your work and it makes you financially comfortable." I don't know either. Maybe I'm just not happy. It's like I'm with these people and I get these thoughts. I realize how weak they are and I attack. I want to be better than them, smarter, cleverer, and I am. Except a moment later I realize I'm not. They're nice and I'm not. You're nice. Nice is weak. It makes them vulnerable. But I'm the weakling. I'm the dummy. The way they look at me—the way you looked at me when I said ... whatever I said—it's like the country girl unable to adjust to big city conventions stopping conversations on a dime. I make people uncomfortable and worse. I make them hate me..
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