She hadn’t left her apartment in days. Her truck sits dormant in the back alley, silently awaiting her next need to travel. The decaying frozen dinner lay on the counter bearing witness to her downward spiral of late. There were the fruits flies again…

Her housecoat was luxuriously long and soft and coincidentally matched the fluffy striped toque she wore to bed on cold winter nights. The only thing missing from this ensemble was a bottle of rye and a few stray cats.
It was noon already, she should get going soon.

She butted out another ciggarette into the smoltering ashtray on the table when the phone rang again. The haunting truths that lurk in the shadows of one’s life always find you, no matter how far under the bed you live. To ignore them keeps you annonomous, to answer to them proves you exist. The ringing continued, as it does every day.