A dull pain pulsed through her temples in an incessant rhythm; drained of serotonin, she felt her whole self tipped toward the void. She pulled the hood of her jacket up over her braids and shoved her hands into the snug pockets of her tight jeans as she walked quickly, almost passing the café. It was a small, unassuming place with an indistinct white placard on the side of the entrance that read in red block letters, POPPY. TEA AND TREATS.
