Tadaima.

Cigarette smokes wafts over the dirty sidewalk; it's a sharp scent in the cold air. She watched the city grow closer from the plane's window as the flight path curved over where she lived and southward to the airport, and now she is here, again without wings, her perspective returned to a ground's level view.

She is dressed exactly as she left. She is home, but she is not happy to be home. She doesn't miss the place she left. She feels the cold air and smells the cigarette smoke and she thinks, I don't belong anywhere.