It was an ordinary park.
Greenish-yellow grass put in it's best effort to cover a light brown packed hard earth, like the hair which persisted on a man who had begun to grow bald some fifteen years ago. There was a cement path, some sad, small trees, benches, and in the center a playground.
It was in this playground Vera liked to hang out, to sit on the swings and think and muse and let her thoughts swill through her brain in a never ending, frustratingly circular stream. She wore her favourite grey sweatshirt, easily five or six sizes too large for her, with the hems of the sleeves worn away from being used as mittens on a daily basis. Her jeans were also too big, but she had secured them with a belt at her hips. Her feet dragged at the sandy ground, and she was wrapped in her own little world.