Hand

She knows it is coming. She's known it for the last fifteen minutes, but she's still holding her attention firm. She promised herself it would not happen this evening, not in this crowd. She had been looking forward to the night out all week, and this restaurant truly deserves all the reviews it gets. The balcony of the restaurant has a view of the city, and the summer evening rewards them with a gentle breeze. Her companions are polite and gentle, and a well-dressed gang. They are discussing something really important when she starts to nod off, their voices becoming distant echoes. She can't fight the urge; it has won, so she simply lets go. Her soul would take a form on her own, lower her head, touch the edge of the table with her forehead, and just stand there. This wouldn't affect the conversation at all, because nobody would notice. The body is the old trickster – can stay upright for hours, and it knows when to blink, when to laugh, and even when to say: “Wow, that is amazing”.…