She would be over looked by almost anyone going by. She was a shorter woman, five foot one or five foot two. She wore a pair of blue jeans, an oversized hoodie from a high school that no one knew, a pair of converse knock offs, and a pair of black and green two dollar sunglasses. In her hand, she carried a thin brown eight and a half by eleven notebook, nothing spectacular about it. Her hair was cut short, and was being blown about in the wind. No one would give her a second glance for any real reason.
She loved it. No one realized just how important she was. No one realized just how much she carried. In its twisted way, it was exhilarating. Because if they knew what she had read—if they knew what was in that notebook, well—then they would be chasing her down the street rather than just letting her walk on by, completely without notice.
And there was something just so absolutely wonderful about having that kind of power, and having no one be any the wiser.