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 “Was it me?”, she thought.

She usually didn’t take this way to the train. Ray would know how she got to the train, right? She would take the most direct route. There would be no reason to go down Polk Street, unless she wanted a cup of coffee. She took her coffee to work almost every day. Ray knew this. Or did he? He didn’t drink coffee. He liked the way it smelled when she brewed a pot in the morning, but that was the extent of his fascination with it.

 The sign could have been printed anywhere, by anyone. Sometimes when Ray would email her, he would say “haveta” and “gotta”. It was some kind of slang affectation. He thought it was cute, she assumed.

 What would he even be getting at? They hadn’t fought in a while. He had wanted to go fishing last weekend with his friends, but when she reminded him of the trip to see her mom, he seemed fine. Well, he seemed a little huffy. Was that it? He *knew* about the trip to her mom’s weeks in advance. So she’s being unreasonable? It’s *her* problem?

 And why couldn’t he just talk to her? What is hard about that? Now she has to read a note on Polk Street? Is that something a mature person does?

 “When I get home,” she thought, “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”