Kara

Saturday morning finds you getting off work at noon when the bank closes, and heading to the street fair. When you arrive, it’s not the aroma of funnel cakes, or the tableau of pretty girls in cute summer wear that makes you smile: it’s Kara. There’s just something about her. You’ve met her at other street fair locations over the course of this last summer, feigning interest in her handmade jewelry booth. Warm and friendly, with an affectionate soul sparkling just behind her eyes, she’s got you around her little finger. Your smile fades as you approach her booth and find her already speaking in a hushed, urgent tone with a tall, fit man in a muscle shirt. He looks furious, she is a mix of terror and frustration. Kara: “Steve, this is my livelihood, you can’t do this. You’ll get me kicked out of the fair!” Steve takes a firm hold of Kara’s wrist. Steve: “Well, that’ll teach you that you can’t just break up with me. You’re mine. You hear me?” Kara’s eyes, filled with tears, look about frantically, then land on you. Relief floods her face as a wordless plea for help glistens in her eyes. Steve catches her gaze over his shoulder, turns and scowls as he sizes you up. “What are you looking at. Kick rocks, buddy.” Poor Steve. If only he knew who he was messing with.