Down at the cold edges of the inner-city sat Sunday, trapped and cornered by empty buildings, held fast by her inability to really see the sky. Every corner she turned seemed to lead her back the same way. This city was a maze, without its people. So she sat on the side of the street, a street like all the others, and she was bathed in cold shadow so that she could not even tell what time it was. Everything was so bare; she knew street-sweepers descended in the night, removing even the tiniest happy specks of litter, cleansing any colour from the grey, black and brown.
Occasionally, a car would drive past: always on the opposite side of the road, always empty. When the first cars came, she ran after them, shouting and waving, but they never slowed down and they always got away. Every time they turned a corner they would seem to simply disappear. As she walked, she began aimlessly testing the giant glass and concrete doors to the unnamed buildings. The handles, when she pulled on them, would not even yield a rattle. The doors were stuck tight and the glass so reflective she could only see her own face peering back at her.
When she sighed, the sound echoed out with no sign of returning. She waited for night, or whatever would come next.