There’s something about a corner. Anything might be round it—a second-hand shop with the perfect antique frock; a view all the way to the horizon; a man with strong arms and a dimple in his chin; anything.
Her steps accelerated as she approached. She was brave, and the world could be new again. With raised chin and lips parted, she breasted the bend, alert for fortune.
Just ahead, a familiar laugh—Henry leaning in to share a joke with some bitch. Why was he not hurting, too? She ducked into the coffee shop, not ready for corners after all.