Situation Tragedy

If life was a performance, the
world a stage, then hers was an
ill-attended matinee on a
wet Tuesday, apt as a metaphor as she
trudged to the station wearing the
wrong shoes under an
inadequate umbrella, and when a car
sluiced her feet with muddy water she
heard an audience laughing.

Titters twittered in her head whilst
wedged between odd-looking commuters;
dropping her keys in a puddle got a
lonely guffaw, but tripping over the
package left in the lobby more
general amusement; the empty fridge
ramped up the jollity, becoming
hysterical as her wet face grimaced at the
peculiarly dead taste of dried fruit.

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