Seen on the Purple Line to the Loop at about 5:45 p.m.
Donna knows she's past her prime. She tries to cover up her short, pudgy body in magenta sweatpants and a black pleather jacket with studs, but to no avail. Her long, thin hair is dyed red, but it does not, as she had hoped, distract from the lines on her face. She's past her prime in other ways, too. Her husband recently left her for Claire, the kids' 21-year-old nanny. Yesterday she was fired from her research position at Baxter because they wanted to hire younger, cheaper people. Donna is trying to find a way to put some value back into her life.
As she waits for the train, she holds a copy of On Writing Well. That's her new plan. To be a writer. She used to be pretty good at her English classes when she was in school all those years ago. Who knows? She could be the Next Great American Novelist. She's certainly in a position to be. She's alone, she's depressed, she's drowning her sorrows every night in gin. Yes, Donna's life sounds like those of so many other great writers: solitary and screwed up.
The train finally arrives; she boards and tries to think of a plot for her upcoming novel. This is all she has left.
Wow. I really do write depressing stories. Sorry about that. Hope you like them anyway. Maybe it has something to do with the miserable Chicago weather as of late. Where is Spring? What if it has left us forever? Such a horrible thing is only acceptable if we jump immediately into Summer. Fact.