Tardy

Donna sat and waited. She was furious that her friend was late. She glanced up at the large clock on the wall of the coffee shop next to the platform. Its hands told her that it was now seven minutes since they'd arranged to meet. Her pulse had quickened and she knew the involuntary teeth-grinding would start soon. Why did her friend do this to her every time they made plans?

Donna's face was becoming redder as she seethed. Her face was so red, in fact, that it wouldn't have looked out of place in a cartoon, complete with the sound of a whistle and steam blowing out of her ears. She ran a hand through her greasy, blond hair – another involuntary action.

Tardiness was like fingernails down a blackboard to Donna and now it was ten minutes since the agreed meeting time. She jiggled her left leg up and down rapidly and turned her head to look up and then down the platform which was filling up with people. The train they were meant to catch would soon arrive.

She reached into her bag and found the small tub of tablets, took one out and dry-swallowed it. In a few minutes she would be calm again.