ᴡɪɴᴅᴡᴀᴠᴇꜱ | ʜ.ꜱ

In which Mary's story unmarkably happens to fall into the hands of a two-week never ending writers block. Two years passes, and she so happens to turn up the radio volume in her grandmother's borrowed Mercedes Benz.

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"And why is that?"

"I think i find comfort in talking to strangers. The fact that I'll never see them again."

"So I'm a stranger?"

"You were at first. Where am I going with you?"