‘Tonight will be perfect’, she thought, snipping an errant shoot and placing the bonsai tree on the table’s centre. I will be perfect.

She moved gracefully in her crimson kimono, the dragon emblazoned on its back seemingly in flight. Where are my shoes?

The fridge glared at her and she retrieved the bottle of olives again, fished one out and popped it in her mouth, smiling bitterly. Yuck. The absurd cravings amused her, even if frustrated.

Something caught her eye. There you are. The shoes peeped from beneath the sofa like bashful dandelions.

Her cell phone rang.

He’s not coming.

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