Children shrieked on the playground—awfully restless and loud. “That’s why I don't have kids,” she thought, sitting on a park bench and her gloves grasping her coffee.

She seemed to be alone in the cold. Except for the parents, talking underneath a pine tree. They know each other. They must talk frequently. Have a lot of connections.

I should get into connecting. Talking more, she thought.

She leaned forward. One stranger had a black coat and a briefcase and the other normal. These weren't parents. She couldn't just sit and watch. Could she?

The neighborhood is a little shady.

It all came so fast. What was in that briefcase? Drugs? Weapons? Why at a playground?

She twiddled her thumbs and stayed on the park bench.