And she threw up.

She had the grace to do it in front of a hotel, hanging out of her car. She barely had time to open the door before everything that is and was her came hurtling forth towards the roof of her mouth, as it has a tendency to do on these sorts of occasions. As the contents of her stomach hit the asphalt, she looked up through blurry eyes to see curtains rustling, ironically witnessing the furtive movements of voyeurism.

People love a free show involving human vulnerability. Screw them.

Leaning back, letting the cool almost-autumn air dry her face, she wondered who was behind each windowed pane - who they were with, what they were doing. She sat there for several minutes listening to the incessant dinging from her car warning her that her keys were still in the ignition, until the senseless noise faded into the sounds of crickets chirping and the soft wind rustling the slightly browning leaves. It is her favorite season. November is roughly a month and a half away.

Everything is well and as it should be. She is fine and the people she cares about are too.