"I am Marisa by the way," No handshake was offered, just a kind and friendly smile. In a City like that, that was a rarity. She knew some people who would kill upon acquaintance. Predators. That City had no sense of social protocol, she was convinced (but remained eager to be proven otherwise, though not expectant of it). "Did you just arrive here?"
Mrs. Coulter thought she did not need to know the answer, but just so. She preferred conversations over assumptions.
She walked with certainty to the left, not because she knew the store was on that direction, but because she knew it would not matter which way she would go anyway. How she despised to be treated like sloths. It was a damper to hard-working folks like her, who found it beneath them to accept free money like some charity case and preferred to earn it.