Bit of a pain to get inside, count here, tap there... what? A door bell is just too simple?

George marched in, or as much as someone CAN march when you're wearing Ferragamo wedge heals. In her right hand was her cavernous briefcase, and in her left was her ever present coffee.

Already in the room... was a man, obviously younger than her, obviously what that weird tourist from her bartending days had taught her to call, "a keener."

George was NOT a social type by nature. She could count all her friends on one hand, and she was not looking to make any new ones. She didn't join the independent campaign to make friends. She joined to keep herself busy.

She sipped her coffee and pointedly ignored the man.