She’s in a waiting room. The walls are a pale yellow, there’s artwork on the walls of nothing in particular. She sits in a chair that has silver metal frame and faux leather padding. On the small square table next to her are four or five magazines that give the vague impression that they’re four or five months old. Behind her, there’s a window to an empty receptionist’s desk and behind that, record storage that appears to go on indefinitely.
She looks like the morning after. Her hair has been bleached blonde and you can tell because a half-inch of roots has grown in. Her nails are manicured with fake French nails, all looking almost good, except for one which is missing the plastic piece and has been restored to its natural state, albeit glue-covered. Upon first glance, it looks as though she has two black eyes, but closer inspection, if one has any desire to inspect, reveals that her eyeliner has simply bled, covering the skin around her eyeballs. The left bra strap has slipped and dangles as listlessly as she does.
A man walks through the pair of sliding doors in front of her. He wears a well-tailored suit with a thin tie. His hair looks nice and is a color that falls somewhere in the spectrum between brown and black. His face is pleasing. She looks at it, determines that it is so, but finds that she cannot determine anything about the shape of it. Her mind slips off the contours of it, and she settles on the idea that his eyes must have been kind. She hopes that his eyes are a good sign, that his kindness will extend to her.
He sits down in the identical chair next to her, crosses one leg over the other, and rests his arm on the chairs and his face on his fist, looking at her with kind and attractive eyes. She gets the impression that he is smiling at her.
“So I here you’re considering taking up haunting.”