Beatrice made her way out of the post office with dejected steps. The three letters had all turned out to be regrets — again. Wondering why she was even still carrying them around, she tossed the opened letters into the nearest dumpster. Squinting her eyes against the sun that was still up despite the relative late time of day, she slowly continued towards the Kencom bus stage. For a fleeting moment, she contemplated calling Irene, her good friend and former co-worker, to see if they could perhaps link up for a cup of coffee or something. But the idea of seeing her friend all dolled up in office attire wasn’t all that comforting. Not that she was jealous of Irene, who was securely employed; it was just that Irene would remind her more of her depressing situation.