When a woman drinks alone, people worry. It disturbs them. It makes them uncomfortable. Who is she waiting for? Is she sad? Lonely? There must be a lover inside for whom she waits. They look. They frown. Why is she just sitting there? She lights a cigarette and smiles. Who is she smiling at? She sighs and orders another drink. People shift uncomfortably in their seats, peer discretely.
She really is alone.
Then, they decide, she is most definitely dangerous. Why else would she be sitting, scribbling in a black Moleskine at this time of night? Doesn’t she know it’s not safe for a woman at this time of night? Yes, she is most definitely dangerous. She plots worlds in her book, terrifying worlds and is best left alone.
She lights another cigarette and she smiles. They shudder.