she’s been in the studio the entire morning, getting up at the ungodly hours of the morning, her overworked limbs repeating the same dance steps over & o v e r again, merely in hopes of perfecting her routine. she walks down the sidewalk, still clad in her leotard with a pair of shorts pulled over, long brown locks pulled taut in a bun atop her head, pink ballet bag slung over her shoulder. the moment that her small frame collides with another is definitely her fault, her mind going through a million different things, none of which being watching where she’s going. looking up at the other, brynne lets out an exaggerated, irritated sigh. ‘ do you NOT know how to walk on a damn sidewalk ?? ’














