She had perfected the art of being visibly invisible. It takes practice, many not having the knack only succeed in becoming invisible. Those around her were thoroughly engaged with one another, paying her no obvious attention. But she could feel their furtive glances weighted with questions. Who is she? Why is she here? What is her name?

Anonymity of this kind is comfortable at first but gradually becomes tiresome as not one person breaks the silence around her. An alien feeling begins to grow, surging up and bubbling over. Suddenly she realises she has positioned herself poorly for a subtle escape. Clutching at strings and trying to enter and hold on to any conversation and ultimately fails with doors slamming shut in her face. This is and will continue to be an utterly fruitless exercise. Resigning herself to an embarrassing and loud exit through the chairs and bodies, hot faced she squeaks goodbye and leaves.

The cool night, welcoming, offers her ambiguity. She dives into it. Head first. She disconnects.