wiry

The night was empty and cold tonight, the darkness shrouding everything not within five feet of the lamp posts. It was so quiet, the trees could be heard whispering gently in the breeze, and there wasn't even much wind. A lonely park bench stood timidly just under a lamp, but even it seemed to think it was not in a safe place to be at 10 o'clock at night.

Yet, a wiry, thin girl in framed glasses sat there, slumped with her shoulders bowing in and her chin pressing down on her chest. She was small, almost invisible in her brown overcoat. If someone was walking by (but no one would, at this hour and in this place), he'd probably mistake her for a pile of clothes abandoned in the park.

But she was there, eyes closed, mouth open with little puffs of air coming out. She shrunk into herself so much that it almost seemed like she wasn't there.

Maybe she wasn't.