She's used to men sighing at her; she barely notices it. If all someone does is sigh, doesn't swear, doesn't hit, it doesn't really matter. She moves on at a clip pace. As ever, she's more focused on her own pain. How strange that someone else wants to hear about it, that it's not a memory turned over and over in her mind, for her only.

She makes some gestures in the air, all of them meaningless, signifying only that she's trying to find the right words and failing. "It was so... exact. Like they weren't going to give anything more than what they had to. Fine-tuned? Fine-tailored."