She doesn't look at people,
she looks past them like they're not even there.

She pushes the Push sign on the glass door and breathes in.
The air is stale inside and full of young children holding their parents hands,
teenagers with braces and sweaty foreheads.

Everyone around her barely glances so as not to be the fools that stare,
but some men still do.

When she stands in line to get the few items she has in her arms,
a cashier immediately becomes available and stutters over the total,
glancing too long at the pens, lifesavers, and Chap Stick she’s purchasing
while handing her cash back to her.

She's that type of girl,
the type that men stop and stutter for.

When she exits the store
a man jumps back to hold the door open for her.

She's the type of woman whose jeans fit her *** in the right way,
and her stomach is perfectly flat against the soft touch of her top.

She exits and walks towards her car,
hands tucked lightly in her pockets.
She opens her door and feels the fresh cold air brush her cheek
as she turns her head and throws her brown hair towards the night.

In the car she empties her pockets
of the handful of things she had stolen
and smiles at her reflection in the rear view mirror.

Silently a wave of euphoria runs up through her chest
to the top of her ****.

She turns the key and the radio’s music begins.