Thoughts (Open)

On the more frigid nights, Cherri rented cheap motel rooms. Now that her cash flow was thinning (being a barista at a local cafe didn't draw in big bucks), if the temperature tipped fifty degrees, she camped out in her car. Currently, it was parked by a heavy, trickling fountain, freshly thawed and bubbling with joy as spring peeked through the high tree tops. 

The young girl's hair was swirled back in a knotted bun, and held in place by a beige pony tail holder. Her hair was so heavy that a few loose strands hung in front of her face in long, loose waves. She looked like any ordinary teenager in Central Park, besides one tiny detail: she was alone. 

It wasn't usual to see a teenage girl, strolling down a knobby, cobblestone pathway without a herd of girls or a boyfriend at her side. Women traveled in packs in these parts - it was just the safe thing to do. 

So what was an average sized girl doing, wandering with a clear soda cup filled with ice coffee and lazy eyes, slitted against the streaky light that poured through the trees. She inclined her head out of curiosity toward the man seated on a bench, several feet away, and her thin lids flickered. Lightwood, her mind registered. She averted her gaze and stirred her mocha iced coffee diffidently.