Bitch-Box Window
Farrah's head came lurching out from behind the bathroom door to cast a quick glance out the window of the hillside apartment she lovingly referred to as "The Bitch Box." The apartment was quite small and only had one window, but then again, it only had one room, unless you count the bathroom, which her wet, naked body was now dripping water all over.
What the small, square apartment lacked in size, it made up for in stuff. Every square inch of the one room that included her kitchen, bedroom, dining room and work space was overflowing with books, notes, notebooks, papers, binders, folders, a recently purchased pair of binoculars, three alarm clocks, and a cat whose name was not Chuck.
The apartment had a poorly aging hardwood floor with mason's nails that could easily pop up if one stepped in the just the right spots, but risk of injury was minimal since most of it was covered with throw-rugs and an inch or two of fallen paper.
"Damn! Damn! Dammity damn! Where'd I...? God, I aughta... Augh! I'll be late if I don't... Ugh."
She reached for her bathrobe, though it was barely over her shoulders as she came darting out of the bathroom, sending papers twirling in her wake while searching frantically in the darkness for the binoculars she misplaced daily.
The sun hadn't risen yet, but she knew she had only a moment before...
"Aargh!!! Damn alarm clock! You're gonna wake the neighbors! They're probably wondering how many times a day this girl gets up! Or why she talks to herself!"
Farrah scurried to her desk to turn silence the alarm clock. The bathrobe she'd barely bothered to put on flapped open just as she flipped one of the many switches that turn on her apartment's only light - a single bulb that hangs from the ceiling in the center of the room.
"Shit, it's later than I... WHOOOP!!!"
As her foot slid on the many drops of water falling to her feet, she hit the floor sideways with a thud.
"Awe sonifabitch!! Riley, you have no idea what I go through for you. Or are you a Ryan? God, I want to know. And that's not the only thing I want. Rarrrrr!!!"
Glancing at her throbbing thigh, she realized her bathrobe was wide open in view of the window.
"Ooh, watch it Farrah! You're giving the whole city a show."
It didn't really matter though. Her priorities were turning off the still-blaring alarm clock, finding her binoculars and getting breakfast ready before her third alarm sounds to remind her to turn off the lights.
"Cocoa Puffs and Mystery Man, here I come. But not at the same time. Ooh! That kinda sounds like fun, now that I think about it."
She shuffled her way to the far side of her room, which was also the kitchen and began making a pot of coffee.
To the cat not-named Chuck, this daily ritual must have seemed like madness... Farrah scurries this way, Farrah scurries that way. Alarm beep, beep, beep. To Farrah, however, it was all part of the best show in town.
"Eh, Colonel? Have you seen my binoculars? Colonel? Yoo-hoo. Helloooooo? Colonel? CHUCK! Jesus, Chuck, you're twelve years old. When are you going to learn your freaking name?!"
From underneath the pile of papers he'd made himself cozy under, a fat disgruntled cat let out a mighty yawn as he lifted himself high on all fours, revealing the pair of binoculars he'd been sleeping on. Farrah crossed the room to fetch them while not-Chuck scampered the other way to help himself to the milk from the bowl of cereal Farrah had set on the table. Meanwhile, her third alarm clock sounded.
This was her favorite of the three clocks. It was an old-fashioned wind-up clock she'd owned since she was in grade school. And, since grade school, it sat on the same dresser next to her bed. Like Farrah herself, this clock was loud, curvy, tightly wound, and needed a certain amount of attention - at least, when compared to the two digital alarm clocks that sat on her desk. All they needed was to be plugged in, but the clock by her bed needed to be wound by hand, daily. Behind it sat a framed photo on what was surely the only tidy spot in her apartment.
With a cup of black coffee in one hand and binoculars in the other, Farrah shooshed her feet through the debris of fallen paper as she crossed the room. She bent over the dresser and thumped alarm clock number three with her nose to make the horrible noise stop. She kissed the photo and then leaned to the left, taking care not to spill her coffee while thumping the light switch with her elbow.
The apartment was very dark as Farrah made her way to the tiny dining room table placed directly in front of her apartment's only window.
The chaos of her morning routine was complete.
With a delicious grin, she traded places with not-Chuck at the small table, sitting in the folding chair beside the blinds closed most of the way, though not entirely. She took a sip of her coffee just as a light turned on in an apartment on the fourth story of the building a block and a half away from hers.
She raised the binoculars to her eyes.
"Ooh, these are nice and warm. Thanks Colonel! And a good morning to you, Mystery man."
Next: A Guy Walks Into A Bar
Startled, Farrah turned with a jump. She'd completely forgotten that she wasn't the only person at the bar on this dark and dreary evening.
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