Deception in the name of consideration. There is no such thing.
The young woman sat, alone on a park bench, her hands laying limply in her lap. She stared out at nothing, her shoulders hunched forward and her knees draw up to herself. It was obvious to passerbys that she was not in the mood to talk.
If one looked closely at her face, they would see her eyes were red and bloodshot, and her skin had a grayish tint. She looked unhealthy, and fragile. Her hair was brittle, and unkempt, and looked as though it had only a passing aquaintance with a brush and comb.
Eventually, she rose. She smoothed her worn denim jeans, and raked her dark blond hair out of her face. She clutched her purse close to her, as though it held something she wouldn't dare let go of. Her movements were jerky and nervous, and she looked as though she would topple over at any moment.
A kindly man offered her help, but she shook her head and waved his hand away. She protested that she was fine, and her knuckles tightened as she gripped her purse tighter. She walked hurredly away, her eyes dartign here and there. She passed a trashbarrel, and carefully, quickly, dropped her purse into it. She was gone within seconds, striding away with wobbly speed.
A homeless man had been watching her since she arrived at the park, hours earlier. He had seen he panic at the sound of sirens, and cry in the silence. He shuffled over to the trash barrel, and fished out the purse. He opened up, not surprised to find the small pistol lying inside. He opened the chamber, and saw it was empty. And recently fired. He shrugged, and dumped it back in the barrel.