Robin had gone to the mall in the vague hope that she would feel like she was doing something entertaining. She was sick of her life, sick of her job as a claims examiner, sick of her four room apartment on the third floor, sick of TV. She was even sick of her friends, both the married ones and the single ones. How had life turned out so boring?
She stood outside the Bath Barn and wanted to vomit when she thought of buying one more candle as some sort of consolation prize. Odd, how the sales lady in there looked like her sixth grade teacher, dyed black pompadour and everything. Robin pivoted toward the escalator, and hey, was that what’s-his-name she’d dated in college headed up the moving steps? But he lived in England now. Weird. Low blood sugar? She headed toward the food court, and oh no, the guy behind the Jazz Up Your Pizza counter was her Uncle Lyman who had been dead for fifteen years. What the…?