[She sees him, but she doesn't really mark him. She's too hazy and hurt and angry to think about what his presence means, whether she cares. She grabs a coffee cup and smashes it hard against the counter, feels the shards crunch in her hand, grabs a fruit bowl and flings it at the wall. It bounces instead of breaking, dull and unsatisfying, pears and oranges thudding dulling and rolling away in lopside paths.]
no subject