Writing in the third person means you can pretend it’s not about you.
Liberation Day
“Thank you very much. You’re all set up. Have a nice day.”
With those words, she was finally free. The ATM card for the new account gripped firmly in hand (a “temporary” card, the official one would arrive in the mail in 6-10 days), she walked into the street a liberated woman.
The new bank was less than a block from her apartment. Her old bank was in the same building as her office, convenient, but not quite as handy as the new one would be. She proceeded briskly down the street, past the grocery store, the movie theater, the quaint and cozy coffee shop (for curling up with a sandwich, hot tea and a magazine) and the 24 hour corporate coffee place (all night high speed internet access!). She smiled regally at the performing arts center, the 24 hour Walgreen’s, two floral shops, the bar where the hot young 20somethings go (she qualifies as a hot young 20something for a few more years) and the quiet pub where she likes to grab a pint on a slow afternoon.
With this last step she had finally accomplished it. Living in one of the largest cities in the world, surrounded by myriad cultures and flavors, drowning in exotic restaurants, fantastic theaters, verdant parks and concert halls both rock and symphonic…She had finally managed to limit her entire world to a two-block stretch of city life. Everything she could possibly need or want…Right. There.
Sure, she’ll still have to go to work, but she moved to this neighborhood because she’s only a $5 cab ride away.
Other than that, she’ll never leave home again.