The young woman looks like she works in an office.
An assistant, perhaps a junior executive. She wears a black blouse, black skirt, black stockings, black shoes. Black hair drawn back and black framed glasses.
She is in the city square, on her phone and crying inconsolably. Weeping into the phone.
She is trembling, not knowing where to turn. Eyes wide, trying to catch her breath.
Why? A call terminating her employment? A broken love affair? A parent’s death?
A wretched loss.