predictable.
Annie began massaging her temples that were throbbing already at the impending migraine the ghost tours seemed to bring on; coupled with the fact that sleep had been hard to come by the night before meant Annie was going to need more than her usual dosage of caffeine followed by more than a few beers at the pub later that evening.
Annie sighed as she placed her Henry the eighth mug on her bistro table. It could stay there until she got home later, she just didn’t feel like going back inside. She adjusted the strap on her messenger bag she had purchased the week before at the Army and Navy store and ran through its contents to make sure she had everything she needed for the day and night looming in front of her. Wallet, keys, her mini pocket knife, a bottle of water, and a book she had been trying to read for weeks and a few rice cakes for when hunger struck, all the essentials were nestled safely inside her bag. Satisfied she latched the bag and checked her apparel. Pink converse were comfortably molded to her feet, above them dark jeans hung nicely on her long legs, luckily free on any stains since she and a nasty habit of dropping food on her lap. She had donned a comfortable plain black tee shirt and covered it with a thigh length light weight cardigan that belted around her waist. She was sure the sweater would be stuffed in her bag at some point during the day. Living by the ocean had taught her that the forever shifting winds could mean a warm day but a much cooler night. She stood on her tip toes trying to get a last minute look at her reflection in the window. Her strawberry blonde hair was knotted on top of her head and as far as her makeup went it appeared to still be in place and doing a decent job of hiding the dark circles under her eyes. Satisfied that she was ready to face the day she adjusted her bag onto her left hip and exited her tiny garden and stepped onto Orange Street.
A light breeze wafted up from the ocean a few hundred feet down the street. Annie inhaled deeply as she walked savoring the salty air. When she had rented her tiny house she couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have found such a gem. It was nestled neatly in between Essex and Derby Street which made almost anywhere in town easily walkable. The red line which cut and curved its way through town to guide tourists past all the historical locations passed right outside her bedroom window. Some people would be put off by tourists traipsing up and down the street, but Annie thought it added to the charm of the house’s location. She passed by Brookside manor and waved at a small group of elderly ladies enjoying their late morning coffee. The exclusive home for elderly ladies was one of the many stops on her Historical tour.
She reached the end of Orange Street and out of habit checked both ways even though at this point Derby Street became a one way street. She knew all too well, that more than one tourist had driven the wrong way down Derby Street; she did not want to become a statistic. Then she quickly crossed the street and paused on the edge of the freshly mowed grassed of Pickering Wharf.
The tide was coming in and the wind was coasting over the ocean carrying more salty scented air. Annie loved the wharf. During colonial times it had been the busiest harbor in America. Ships from all over the world would unload their exotic wares right here on these very shores then loaded them into horse drawn wagons to be shuttled across the street to the Customs House. Annie loved that she lived just feet from real historical places and would often wonder what the wharf would have looked like in its heyday. She shielded her eyes from the flare bouncing off the ocean and cursed herself for forgetting her sunglasses. Maybe if there was time in between tours she could snag a pair from one of the local shops.
A dog splashing in the shallow waves caught her attention. Its owner was
Annie began massaging her temples that were throbbing already at the impending migraine the ghost tours seemed to bring on; coupled with the fact that sleep had been hard to come by the night before meant Annie was going to need more than her usual dosage of caffeine followed by more than a few beers at the pub later that evening.
Annie sighed as she placed her Henry the eighth mug on her bistro table. It could stay there until she got home later, she just didn’t feel like going back inside. She adjusted the strap on her messenger bag she had purchased the week before at the Army and Navy store and ran through its contents to make sure she had everything she needed for the day and night looming in front of her. Wallet, keys, her mini pocket knife, a bottle of water, and a book she had been trying to read for weeks and a few rice cakes for when hunger struck, all the essentials were nestled safely inside her bag. Satisfied she latched the bag and checked her apparel. Pink converse were comfortably molded to her feet, above them dark jeans hung nicely on her long legs, luckily free on any stains since she and a nasty habit of dropping food on her lap. She had donned a comfortable plain black tee shirt and covered it with a thigh length light weight cardigan that belted around her waist. She was sure the sweater would be stuffed in her bag at some point during the day. Living by the ocean had taught her that the forever shifting winds could mean a warm day but a much cooler night. She stood on her tip toes trying to get a last minute look at her reflection in the window. Her strawberry blonde hair was knotted on top of her head and as far as her makeup went it appeared to still be in place and doing a decent job of hiding the dark circles under her eyes. Satisfied that she was ready to face the day she adjusted her bag onto her left hip and exited her tiny garden and stepped onto Orange Street.
A light breeze wafted up from the ocean a few hundred feet down the street. Annie inhaled deeply as she walked savoring the salty air. When she had rented her tiny house she couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have found such a gem. It was nestled neatly in between Essex and Derby Street which made almost anywhere in town easily walkable. The red line which cut and curved its way through town to guide tourists past all the historical locations passed right outside her bedroom window. Some people would be put off by tourists traipsing up and down the street, but Annie thought it added to the charm of the house’s location. She passed by Brookside manor and waved at a small group of elderly ladies enjoying their late morning coffee. The exclusive home for elderly ladies was one of the many stops on her Historical tour.
She reached the end of Orange Street and out of habit checked both ways even though at this point Derby Street became a one way street. She knew all too well, that more than one tourist had driven the wrong way down Derby Street; she did not want to become a statistic. Then she quickly crossed the street and paused on the edge of the freshly mowed grassed of Pickering Wharf.
The tide was coming in and the wind was coasting over the ocean carrying more salty scented air. Annie loved the wharf. During colonial times it had been the busiest harbor in America. Ships from all over the world would unload their exotic wares right here on these very shores then loaded them into horse drawn wagons to be shuttled across the street to the Customs House. Annie loved that she lived just feet from real historical places and would often wonder what the wharf would have looked like in its heyday. She shielded her eyes from the flare bouncing off the ocean and cursed herself for forgetting her sunglasses. Maybe if there was time in between tours she could snag a pair from one of the local shops.
A dog splashing in the shallow waves caught her attention. Its owner was
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