Scene One: Jesse has just gone back to Wilmington, and Erin feels as though she’s missing a limb or one of her vital organs. She also needs a Tupperware and some plastic baggies, so she decides to go to Walgreens. Then, four hours later, she finally works up the nerve to leave the apartment and make said run to Walgreens. She successfully uses the train alone, walks to Walgreens, makes her purchases, then walks back to the train. She spends the rest of the evening, and all the next day, in the apartment alone.
Scene Two: Jesse has been gone for two weeks, and Erin is feeling more adventurous. On a whim, she decides to make a Walgreens run. (Well, “whim” and the fact that the apartment is out of toilet paper.) She hops on the train, which is ridiculously crowded, walks to Walgreens, buys the toilet paper, then stuffs her purchase in her backpack and goes exploring. She visits a local market, watches people chatting at a street corner while their children make silly noises at their feet, and then she moves on to other stores that interest her: a hardware store with a garden section out back, a natural pharmacy, another few groceries (she buys some fancy chocolate and some water). She meanders until it gets cold. She admires the fog rolling in, as she walks back to the train stop. She feels intrepid and happy and urban.
Then, she waits eighteen full minutes and curses said cold and said fog. She cradles the big bottle of water (that she found for 70-cents) like it was a wine bottle. Her hands turn blue. She wishes she’d brought her heavier jacket (its spot was currently held by toilet paper). She wonders if she should just go catch a bus. She knows as soon as she leaves the train stop the train will show up and then she’ll end up waiting another twenty minutes for the bus. She wishes she had a car. She wishes the train would just hurry up. She feels considerably less awesome, but still fairly urban.