She was a writer, working on a book about antique furniture restoration. Her research was a collection of disparate facts.
No theme, no center. Would it ever come together? Would anyone care if it did not? Aside from her publisher, of course, whose deadlines were scratched in granite.
She went on searching. It’s what you did. You went on. Today, she found herself in a two-light town west of the city, alone, standing at the threshold of a shop on a musty side street, her hand trembling as she reached for the knob, her heart full of something like hope.
I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #379 at Velvet Verbosity.