(no subject)

Aside from the short-lived blizzard a few weeks back, things in Darrow have seemed relatively steady lately, which mostly leaves Karen wondering when that's going to change. A little over a year here, and she's learned well that that tends to be the way of things — a lull, followed by some major event, generally catastrophic, then everything going back to whatever constitutes normal around here. At least it gives her a little breathing room. If she had a little more sense or a little less drive, she would be able to admit to herself that something in her life probably ought to give, and then act on it. As it is, she has no real intention of giving up either part of what she's doing. With journalism, she's found something that feels right, like pieces falling into place in her life, a calling she didn't know she had. With John and Harold, though, she gets to make a real difference, something more active than she would be doing otherwise. She'd sacrifice neither for the other.

So she's sometimes spread a little too thin. It isn't like that wasn't the case back in New York, and at least she isn't letting down people counting on her in the process.

With this break, however brief it might be, she's taken to focusing on her writing — nothing pressing, but potential future articles that are more pet projects than anything else, rather than about any major Darrow event. It's nice, really, and nice out, too, which is what's brought her out of her apartment and to a nearby coffee shop to write instead, set up with her computer at a table by the door, glancing up occasionally every time she hears the bell by the door ring.

When she sees someone familiar come through the door, though, she lowers her laptop screen a little, wanting to make sure she's right before she says anything to embarrass herself. She thinks she is, though, and so she smiles, lifting one hand in a slight wave. "Hey," she says. "Lois, right? I think we met when you first got here?"