A girl who is inside sits in a toilet stall. She leans forward to adjust and the motion sensor sets off a flush. She is not done and still thinking about this annoyance when, a few seconds later, the whole thing repeats and she learns- a-ha!- this is the exact motion that does it. She rocks now back and forth and back and flush and flush and flush- if you saw her, heard her, you'd think something was wrong, but you're not in the bathroom- and she is holding the sides of the stall now and she stops rocking because nothing is wrong. It's just that she's angry, trapped in this bathroom and this stall made of synthetic materials. She does not want to leave and have to stay in this building all day when the outside exists.
She washes her hands and takes a controlled breath over the sink, makes eye contact with the reflection. She notes the splotchy affects of the sun on dim skin that fluctuates from more to less here in the bathroom's tube lights.
There are no windows in the bathroom, but there are in the hall and she thinks she could go look, she could go outside and disappear there, not here. But she only thinks this for two and a half seconds and stops. Picks up her bag, it is time to return to that room. Before she steps, in the moment when she is about to tell her muscles to step, the toilet flushes again.
No clouds filter the brilliance outside yet, but they are coming.
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