log. Who: Caroline Benson and Naomi Richardson What: Two sassy dames have a literal run-in. When: The morning of 5 April 2029 Where: District 5, on a street corner Rating: Let's go with R for language, just in case.
Gallstones. Pancreatitis. Hordes of flesh-eating bacteria. What was it this time? She was an oncologist, for Christ's sake, and one who made her own schedule, didn't they know?
Deleting the new message on her iHolo with a satisfying sidelong slap at the screen with her ring finger, Naomi crimped her hair twice at the mirror in the hallway, shook her head with a snort, and snatched her fitted blazer from the armchair near the door. Assuming spring weather, she folded the jacket over her arm, threw the strap of her oversized purse up to her bare shoulder, unbolted the many locks on her door, and marched down the hallway.
Scarcely half-past eleven in the morning, and Dr. Naomi Richardson had already had enough. She made her way toward the street-level doors of the apartment building, which a doorman pulled aside with an airy fush at Naomi's approach. The glass bowed out of the way for the precise step, straight arms, and narrowed eyes that accompanied the doctor, and on the street, the April air folded itself over to let the doctor through on her way to work. Even the breeze made itself tepid for Naomi's eastward journey down Lafayette Avenue.
Just about every moving thing knew enough to keep out of the way of the harried Dr. Richardson this morning, and so it was with great surprise that the woman, with her head half-buried in her purse in search of her iHolo, found herself slamming into another moving body.