Penelope spends a lot of time dreaming

She stands at the door of the mall parking lot, dragging on her cigarette, glaring at the seemingly ever-present stormy clouds of smog which darken the sky above the grey river and the stretches of concrete highways. She can see the waves lapping against the manmade embankments; a lone duck floats amidst white caps, maybe a storm will pour onto the city. She drags on her cigarette, a rebellious poseur leaning against the doors, glaring at people climbing into shiny cars with kids and packages.

A little girl, bundled into a winter coat, her long blond hair falling all around her, bends down to pick up a ribbon, half-damp from a puddle. She shouts to her mother, she can hear the cry in innocence and wonder, "Mommy, mommy, look what I found!" and the warm acceptance of the mother who then furtively slips the red ribbon into her pocket, hiding the dirt from her daughter.

--Penelope