Flan rolled outside into the busy sidewalk, waiting for an opening. Pedestrians seemed worse than cars, with some feeling superior in their speedy pace, sighing heavily at the sluggish tourists taking in every step to look up and down each building like a scummy man would a woman.
Flan rarely worried about being too slow or fast, one of the benefits of a wheelchair. Most people knew it was heartless to get annoyed at someone else’s misfortune.
After moving to the city, Flan always felt simultaneously annoyed with the judgment locals, and intrigued by others’ fascination with the architecture.
Do they see something I don’t? She would always wonder, as she stared on with the strangers.
She’s done a lot less of this now, but caught herself gazing with onlookers at what seemed to be a gargoyle, but the sun shone right behind where it was positioned. Her heart murmured at a sudden movement. A bird flew from the roof. She took a breath and moved on, as the onlookers continued marveling at the weathered stone and wondrous water damage.
Flan wasn’t yet aware, but she was being followed.
She went into her favorite café, had a milky Americano and her last slice of carrot cake before she went missing.