discontent and desperation

The uniform she wears suggests she has power. Dressing in a crisp white-collared t-shirt and black suede pants, finished with a walkie-talkie connected to her hip and a golden badge on her left breast, she could very well have the appearance of supremacy and triumph. But it's contradicted with her slouching stance, the dark circles under her eyes focused on the floor, and her hair that looks like it was once died chestnut brown but has since been faded to grey, forgotten. Her pink round cheeks match her round stomach- it sinks over her belt unattractively. She leans against the window of the Apple store and stares straight ahead into the distance, as though she is pondering a troubling thought but not looking at anything specifically. She is bored. Her foot taps the floor and I wonder to myself if this was the job she signed up for. Her eyes dart to a sharp distant noise in the atrium of Ridgedale, but it is just two kids playing, one running after the other. She turns her eyes back to the floor and her foot picks up it's rhythm once again.