Tammy wakes up at 5am. She works at 9am. She likes to have her morning to herself. To take them on slowly. She enjoys the emotion of being overwrought with hesitation. Paralyzed with indecision. At 5am, the alarm goes off. Tammy hits the snooze knowing she won’t go back to sleep. She will stare at the white transparent window curtain backlit with cascades of orange helium vapor light. For ten minutes she stares, wondering if she is depressed. When the alarm goes off again, she delicately shuts it off, caringly, so as to not hurt the feelings of the little alarm. Tammy trips over a scattered pair of shoes as she meanders to the bathroom so as to take a shower.
After showering, making coffee, spending quality time with her cat, checking her email, reading the New York times, preparing lunch and breakfast, filing her fingernails, making her bed, neatly stacking the books and magazines by her bed, pacing back and forth, and taking 14 pictures of her window curtains on her cell phone, she leaves her apartment, closing a total of 6 locks on her way out. Tammy walks to the train, with her eyes half open, still not suffiently awake.
On the train Tammy reads a book. She is not reading it though. She is too tired to read, but slovenly holds it open on her lap as a deterrent from eye contact with other passengers.
At work Tammy sits at her desk. She opens her word documents and her three ring binders. Tammy is a copywriter for a reality TV Production Company. Everyone working in the 25 x 30 foot office has been sick in the last week.
Tammy thinks to herself “This place is like a petri dish.”
At 5pm Tammy walks, again, to the train. It’s an hour to work, and an hour back. As she walks, Tammy watches the ground, being sure to walk inside the cracks. Tammy is not paranoid, or Obsessive Compulsive, but finds that the walk passes more quickly if she occupies her mind with something. Tammy sees something glinting on the sidewalk ahead of her. She bends to pick it up. A man whistles at her. It is a dime. Tammy puts it in her pocket and enters the train station, not exactly convinced of any reason why she did that.
An hour home. Tammy rides home an hour. Passively. To get home she has to do nothing but sit and wait. Then board the train, then sit and wait for it to arrive at her stop. The train surfaces after a few stops. It over looks Brooklyn. The sun is hot on her neck; she sweats and can feel the soft willowy hairs begin to form ringlets at around the crown of her head. She stares forward, out the window.