(she's scrolling through something on her phone — a feed of images, some of which she taps at with her fingertips to save for later, while others she just skims past — so she doesn't notice the stranger's appraisal of her single-attendance dance party right away. it takes a moment. more specifically, it takes the cough of the girl behind her in line, a pointed noise intended to draw kimberly's attention away from the world and social media and up into reality, in the hopes that she might notice the large expanse of open space that has so far gone unfilled. it seems neither of them have managed to follow the queue very well.
with a bit of a wry smile, kimberly steps forward, closing in on the man's personal space; when he extends the earbud, she accepts with little hesitation. ) Yeah, okay, ( and she takes it, just like that, between slim fingers that make easy work of nestling the white piece into her ear. the short cord means they're now connected in the queue, two people sharing a small footprint of space in the shop as they wait for their turn to order.
the song is loud, of course, but she's used to that. music blares in gyms, and she's never been one to listen to things quietly when she does put in her own earbuds. better to have the music loud to drown out the sounds of her shoes hitting pavement on a run, or to ignore the sounds of interrupting strangers on her train ride into the city. )
I like this, ( she murmurs; she realizes as soon as she does that he can't possibly hear her over the track. a tug at the connecting cord, and when he pulls his own out again, she repeats, ) I like this. It's good.
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with a bit of a wry smile, kimberly steps forward, closing in on the man's personal space; when he extends the earbud, she accepts with little hesitation. ) Yeah, okay, ( and she takes it, just like that, between slim fingers that make easy work of nestling the white piece into her ear. the short cord means they're now connected in the queue, two people sharing a small footprint of space in the shop as they wait for their turn to order.
the song is loud, of course, but she's used to that. music blares in gyms, and she's never been one to listen to things quietly when she does put in her own earbuds. better to have the music loud to drown out the sounds of her shoes hitting pavement on a run, or to ignore the sounds of interrupting strangers on her train ride into the city. )
I like this, ( she murmurs; she realizes as soon as she does that he can't possibly hear her over the track. a tug at the connecting cord, and when he pulls his own out again, she repeats, ) I like this. It's good.