"Furious Pen Submission"
(Second Chances)

SECONDS

The train's exit from the station didn't deplete the beehive activity filling it. Anne rescued her spilt writing supplies from being trampled and doused them with cappuccino in the process.
Fury and weariness fought in her head. Anne plopped down on a scarred bench and cautioned herself, "Breath...just breath." The approaching migraine receded back into its tunnel. With relief, she took stock of her surroundings.

"Long day, huh?" a baritone voice asked.

Searching for the voice's owner, Anne growled back at the tall trench coat, "No, it's been a friggin' picnic!"

He smiled down at her as she snatched the zippered leather book from his hand. How had she missed it? Her "brain," her date book, her very life's plan had gotten away unnoticed during her collision with the late-for-my-train-home jerk moments before.

By the time Anne had cleared the thunderclouds from her mind enough to offer thanks to the man, he was gone.

Bumping along home in seat 12 J, reading the ads in dim light for the thousandth time, Anne's eyes fell on the trench-coated stranger.

She gathered her things without mishap and walked toward the empty seat beside him.