The air is pink tonight. The air is pink, and the sky is streaks of orange-gold and different shades of grey. Anna sits in the windowsill of the little apartment she and John share in the heart of the City. Her legs dangle over the alley, the ground four stories down. John has fits when she does this, but he's not here right now ( Read more... )

This isn't all that different from the register at the theater, really, except for the screen. Well, the keys are different, too, but the principle is the same. Daniel says he's sure I won't break it. Apparently he has more confidence in me than in John. Poor John. I shouldn't laugh, but I can't help it ( Read more... )

There is no such thing as a sunrise that is not spectacular on Shell Beach. This particular morning, as the sky is illuminated with scarlet and pink and gold, a dark-haired woman can be found seated at the end of a pier. Her legs dangle over the edge, bare feet getting hit now and then with a spray of fine, salty mist as the waves break. There ( Read more... )

It's her day off, and Anna is in a good mood. She puts a tray of apple-cinnamon scones in the oven (she's not much of a cook, really, but she enjoys baking, and when she visits her mother in the nursing home, she likes to have treats to bring the other residents), then goes to the closet of her apartment and begins digging through the art supply ( Read more... )