Day 87.

When she felt the hand on her shoulder, she didn't move. At first she assumed it was the man she just met, coming back to tell her never mind; he wasn't interested after all. She expected it.

When she heard her name, she knew it wasn't. She froze. She panicked. She shuddered. She knew exactly who it was. It had to be a ghost. She must've summoned it by sitting in his seat. She had to be imagining it; a psychotic break brought about from years of desperation, manifesting itself in an audible hallucination. That was it. It had to be it. She didn't respond, didn't even look up. She just kept looking straight ahead. 

When he sat in her chair, she didn't see him. She just peered right through. He was a ghost after all, an aborition, a hallcination.

When he said hello, it didn't register in her ears. She thought she heard some kind of mumbling, buzzing sound, but that was in the distance. It certainly wasn't sitting across from her at her table in her chair.