Shaking her head in pity as the rain drizzled down, she gazed upon the contorted forms before her. “Why can’t you just learn?” she whispered. “So much time, so much pain. And for what? This is never the right way to go.” She averted her eyes briefly, ground out her cigarette, and then quietly but methodically replaced all the individual spaces with a proper hanging indent.
The palpitations were starting again, and her stomach churned. How could this plague be so ubiquitous? It had to be stopped, but how? She had no answers, and she could muster no courage against this ever-encroaching affliction. Exhausted and discouraged, she turned away from the nauseating sight of yet another store sign ravaged by Papyrus.
She stared, mouth agape in abject horror and disgust. What kind of monster would breach convention so flagrantly? Had they no sense of righteousness, of common dignity? Valiantly choking back the bile, she changed the margins back to one inch on all sides.
After years of teasing glimpses, she finally succumbed to the seductive mystery of Tipo de letra del sistema Fina. How simple and unassuming Tipo was compared with the flourishes she had once loved but lately grown tired of! Alas, it was a satisfying but ultimately temporary flirtation. Constrained by her vows of loyalty, she resigned herself to selecting all and changing the document back to Times New Roman. But Tipo would always be there, making her wonder what could have been.