The young woman sits in the car, looking impassively at the house across the street. On her left ring finger is a ring – a thin band of white gold. Absently, without looking, she reaches with her other hand and her fingers close around a white paper coffee cup, half filled with black tea. She lifts the cup to her lips, and slowly takes a sip, never once taking her eyes off the door of the house.
In her left hand, the one with the ring, is a cigarette. For a moment she moves her gaze from the door of the house across the street, and looks down at the still unlit cigarette. A brief look of anger crosses her face, and she flicks the cigarette out the driver’s side window.
Just as the cigarette hits the ground, the door of the house opens. A man steps out. For a long while the man stands on the porch. He does not appear to notice the car. The man walks to the end of the driveway, turns left, and continues on, walking along the sidewalk.
The young woman carefully places the cup back in the cup holder. Then she removes the ring from her left hand. Clutching the ring, she turns on the car radio. It is playing the first movement of a sonata by Beethoven. She lets the movement play to the end, seeming to listen intently, and then shuts off the radio. Holding the ring tightly in her clenched fist, she puts the car into gear, and slowly pulls away from the curb.