The rows of cars come to a slow stop around her, as the traffic light turns to red. Then, a strange fright of crossing the white lines on the street hits her. She pushes over the fear and manages to get her trembling body back to the curbside, while onlookers gawk with curiosity and disbelief. The involuntary smacking of her mouth and lips is rapid as she gropes for breath. Nobody helps. She falls over the stack of newspapers, and realizes she didn’t even take any with her to sell when she went into the street. Oh, God, what was she thinking? She cries for herself inside. She imagines the passers-by are giving her their looks of hate or disgust. Having survived the cars, she can’t catch a breath. Why does everything happen to her? she implores to no one.

After shutting his portable phone, a man stopped at the red light looks around desperately until he spots Mary. “Hey, excuse me! You selling any papers?” he calls out from his car. Mary looks at her empty hands and sees her own body lying beside the stack of papers. “You should hold one up, so people can see,” he says. “Can I get one of those?”

Seeing that Mary’s not going to respond as fast as he wants, he pops out of the car, a heavy figure with a phone clipped to his belt and two beepers. While observing Mary’s distress, he takes a newspaper and whips through it to reach some specific pages.

“Are you going to be alright?” he asks her.

“Yes...all right, yes.” She pants.