7 - Underpass

(c) Icemoon

Sheila was running late, although in such heels she was not so much running as walking with the speeded-up gait of a geisha: toes crunched to the front of kiss-red leather, and spine arched so as to balance her momentum in the mid-morning rush.

Risking a twisted ankle, she hesitated before deciding to take the underpass. She had just enough credit on her proxi-card to use this short-cut which because of its nearness to the banking zone had charge-gates for the 'value added' of a traffic and beggar-free route to City Hall. Scuffed armoured glass displays held artwork from the National 'donated' as part of a premium deal financing the core collection's slow restoration after the Occupy bombings of '15.

Friendly plasma signs espoused that they were 'investing in your future while you invest in ours', but at the approach of her proxi-card few outlets invited her warmly in to 'browse and try'.

As she hurried along, she kept up a running commentary, though she knew Bill could detect her progress towards the court. Had either of them taken care to view the graphic, they'd have noticed the interest now being taken by the OCTV, through which their respective legal bloggers were monitoring for the slightest sign of weakness in the other's behaviour. Divorce hung on the niceties of lifestyles as lived, and her extravagant use of the underpass would cost her more than the euro deducted at the gate.