Waiting

I sat behind the glass window, anxiously pressing miscellaneous buttons on my phone, and counting the number of cars that drove by. There was a blue minivan, a sleek silver camry, and even a punch buggie. However, no black Acura SUV. My heart began to ache, my palms began to sweat. The bag of chips beside me was bare empty, not even a crumb in the corner. My fingers were bitten in uneven ridges and peaks.
As the couples walked past me, I tried to pull off a slightly haughty look - chin up high, tears held back, playing with my hair - but I guess that never worked. I could see their reflections of utmost pity. Some nodded. Others whispered. All of them laughed - every single one, but they abruptly stopped when they had a glance of me. Well, I wasn't any dog; I didn't need the perpetual attention - even if it was the only kind I was getting these days. I put on my sunglasses to hide any possible evidence of tears and sat back. One hundred and fifty nine. One hundred and sixty. And then there it was - the black car. I let out a deep breath: was it of relief or of despair? I couldn't tell, but was there even a difference? Did I even have a choice anymore?