Force

Her car ditched her on the road on her way to work. She leaned on the hood of her car frustratedly and held her chin. Getting a cab on this part of Aleshore was difficult because it was the adjoining expressway that led to the monarchical houses of Havana.

She had no idea what she would do on a morning like this. She was wearing block heels today, but it still hurt. She unstrapped both heels and kept them beside her feet. 

Three sleek black cars cruised past, and she struggled to keep her flaying skirt down. A Ford drove past right after. It wasn't supposed to bother her, but the car looked familiar. Her mind refused to leave it alone, so while she waited for a cab, she struggled to remember where she had seen the Ford.

Someone walked past her car on the pavewalk. A lady her age wearing a tank top and cargo pants. Her walking gait oozed overconfidence and purposefulness. Now Esmeralda had something else to think about other than the Ford.