"It's never too late to be what you might have been".  George Elliot

She was in a cab.  Chicago in the summer.  Not exactly humid, but not exactly dry.  The wind blew through her hair and she had to grasp the door handle every once in a while when the driver sped around other cabs and cars as they headed for her destination.  She felt a certain freedom sitting in the back, knowing that she had no control over the next thirty minutes of her life.  She gasped inwardly as the cab just missed hitting a cyclist.  What a rush.