What have we done

She walked for miles. The sun was hanging in the sky without a breeze to shift it. I just told you where the sun was, that's why you know. Keep that in mind. The sidewalks were nearly empt and the busiest city in the world came to a standstill because of a little drizzle, except for her. She casually held her hands out, palms up, as she kicked puddles around and stomped about. She watched the rain tumble through the few trees that survived in the "concrete jungle" and...ha. I'm sorry. The whole idea behind this is just slightly amusing. See, you don't know "her," and you won't ever meet her. You weren't there when it poured like hell but the sun blared down anyway. You didn't see that faint spark in her eye that meant she was in love with the scenery. And even if I go on to describe it for you, it won't make you feel any different than you do right now. It won't inspire you and you won't rush home to go write a book. I may have, but you won't simply because you were not there. Which implies that I was. Just keep in mind that it's not the implication, it's whatever I say. In either case, she walked down the middle of the street, fearlessly marching on that double yellow line that means you're halfway there. Her bangs were wet, dripping in fact, and water started to collect on her very plain eyelashes. It made everything sparkle. The soles on her cons, or what was left of them, squished when she stepped on dry land, and she smiled every time. She was singing because there was no one around to hear her. She had an amazing voice, but she had issues. We all do, really. And then, right as she got to her favorite part, the rain just stopped and the traffic picked up again and, unless you were there, you couldn't hear her sing:

"I'm not here...

This isn't happening."