The Last Bazaar

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Kono Kinimaka placed her empty sandwich wrapper carefully beside her on the step and weighed it down with a plastic bottle of water. The sandwich tasted good. She’d prepared it before stepping out earlier and purchased the water on the way. The morning’s walk to the Lincoln Memorial and Reflecting Pool was her compromise to a day off the gym and several hours of contemplative quiet.

Not everything was about top speed and sweat, although some guys she knew would disagree. Her years in Hawaii had taught her that peace of mind can be just as important as physical comfort. So she had tied her long, dark hair back, tucked it beneath a Malcolm Reynolds baseball cap, shrugged into a pair of joggers and a hooded jacket, then carried her small bag of food all the way down to Constitution Avenue. She hid her doe eyes behind blue reflective Oakleys. It was only after she set out that she remembered to convince herself that the camouflage gear was to ward off the sun and unwelcome male gazes rather than a dangerous stalker’s eyes.

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