Truth be Told. Hmmm. Can't Say I've seen Much Lately

Truth be told. ..  Hmm. . . Can't Say's I've Heard Any Lately

       This lady walks into 2015 (running, even walking too brusquely may have caused suspicion, detention, delay) and with a resolved sense of determination to become 'more involved in mankind' precipitated by a hasty New Year's resolution - interrupts a private conversation between two people unknown to her who seem to be lost.  She asks whether she can be of assistance in helping them find their way.

       (Many - too many of her years have been wasted in pursuit of 'finding herself', ferreting out her personal karma, assuring herself that she had, indeed, 'arrived'.  She now knew with that unquestionable assurance one has at the start of what is going to be a bad evening as one smudges the polish on before completely tearing off a newly-manicured fingernail while jabbing for the spotless, shining brass doorknob the turning of which effects the entrance of a highly sought-after blind date, her 'way of being in the world', a 'way' that yields gratitude and a modicum of pride.  "But now," she thinks, it is given to me to negate Self for the higher, nobler purpose of helping others out of darkness into the bright light of confidence and comfort, trampling upon despair and deterrence en route.")
     The unfortunate strangers to her city had totally bollixed the "KEY" reference section on the street map they'd purchased and were therefore heading very much away from their desired destination and thus the event that had lured them this far would be history by the time their error was recognized, steps re-traced and proper goal achieved.
       She, seeing these ramifications instantly in the brief glance taken at the disoriented couple's map, trusted her surmise completely (thereby obviating the need to confer with these hapless losers and wasting more time - hers) instantly began issuing STAT orders to her personal driver, having snatched her cell phone from its ochre kid case, used speed dial and began her barks as four staring eyes became Keene-sized fear balls.
       (Just as the blanket of cozy satisfaction settled itself around her erstwhile cold shoulders, the first lap in her journey from 'Isolated Island' to 'Compatible Camaraderie' the sound of retreating, panicked, Dr. Scholl's-lined sturdy touring shoes running apace bombarded her ears.  The auditory, polluting assault shattered her sounds of peaceful silence renting the shoulder comforter into microscopic shards of rayon.
       This acute change in her surrounding constitutional ambiance shocked her into a discordance so severe as to permit her cell phone to plummet to the unyielding cement amid the fading pleas of a fearful servant now morphing into nightmare fragments.
       The 'about-to-be prototypes' of her new karma had fled.  Apparently  NOT finding "Interpersonal Salvation" as vital as finding the pre-paid seats to the opera.  She could still faintly make out their forms - your typical 'rat-in-a Skinner-Box', flinging themselves into the maze, caution to the wind, onto the first streetcar of kindness they thought they saw.)
       "Well", she thought, "2015 may not be at all timely for such a life-altering change."  Having done an about face, the lady continued her walk.  "Now where was I?  Ah, yes.  2015: Year of Personal  Discovery Leading to the Real Me and My Reason d'Etre. If it's a good read, perhaps next year I'll market the screenplay."
       (Oh what a tangled web we weave. . . Just considering effecting a  change that requires discipline; demands TRUTH.)
Later, Lorane. . . .