At five in the afternoon, Lenore sat at a sticky table in a tiny greasy aired diner in a corner of town that was not frequented by the fashionable crowd. That was why she chose this place. It was safe.
She pulled out her notebook and clicked her pen into readiness. Scanning the crowd to make sure no one was looking her way, she bent over the paper and began to write. Out came her day, her month, her likes, dislikes, thoughts, prayers, and her soul. It all leaked out and spread across the page in dashes, dots, curls, and scrawls. It danced to a music that few would ever hear.
A shadow passed over her page, then backed up and stayed. She looked up to see an old woman smiling down at her.
“Keep writing, honey. Keep writing. It is the answer for us all if we but took the time.” The old woman patted Lenore on the shoulder and then walked out the door.