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Rushed

The sun crawls from behind the tops of the buildings of the sleepy city. The stars shy away from the sky's sunrise, past the horizon until no stranger can see them. The moon escapes from the new day finding its way to another night, to show off its pale light.

My fingers trace their way from my pillow to my clock, my hands feeling dry against the silky sheets of my blankets. I wish to feel so much smaller under these sheets, and fall back asleep. I drift from consience to dreams within moments. Minutes later, my eyes flutter open. They blink in the darkness of my room as I lift up my covers. I carefully glide my legs out of my bed, my toes snuggle themselves into the fabric of the carpet. I stretch my arms up to the ceiling and stretch. A yawn escapes from my lips. My ankles crack as a move them around, and feeling of fatigue rushes through my spine as I try to move my body. I simply shake my head hard back and forth, moving myself all about trying to get awake.

I make my way towards the curtains of my window, my hands frimly grab them and pull them sideways. The light of the outside world blinds my eyes as they trying to adjust. Today does not look particularly special, probably be just like it did yesterday. But it can still be a good day.

I turn myself around, of course my room is a mess. Books are piled upon my dresser, papers piled unflawlessly on my desk, random objects scattered across the room, clothes hanging about longing to be worn. I extend my right hand to snatch a plain gray shirt, I inspect it and bring it to my nose and sniff. It's clean. I slip out of what I call pajamas, and put on the shirt. Pants. I need nice pants today, not jeans. I shuffle through my drawers impatiently, my hands feel around for something smooth and formal, my fingers shuffling through every frabic. I pull out something black. Perfect. I jump into the dressy dark pants while hopping around the room for my dark heels. I find one shoe, I need the other one. Where could it be?

I hear my phone ring. The sound pierces through my ears, it rings once, than rings again. It comeing from behind me. I twirl my body around move toward my bed, searching through the messy pile of blankets for the phone. It sings another lullaby. It seems closer, so much closer. I feel like this is a game of hot and cold, and I am getting warmer. I lift up my pillow, a small obnoxious object slips through the case. My phone, still ringing. I inspect the caller ID cautiously, it's Tony. Great.

"-Hello," A gruffy voice says from the other line.

"Hello, Sir," I echo. I hear Tony eating something, a donut maybe? There is an awkward silence, I move away from the bed and hunt for my other shoe. I shuffle clothes around on the floor searching, still no luck.

"Yea, need to go to a different interview today," Tony finally says plainly. Such late notice?

"Oh," I say with a hint of shock in my voice, "Is Mrs. Pratt not available today?" I spot a dark shoe in the corner of the room, a walk towards it and pick it up carefully. I slip the shoe onto my left foot.

"I actually gave the interveiw to someone else," Tony states, "Y'know, Jenifer just has a better way with people like that... must uh, be something in her charm. But anyway, I decided to give the interview to her." I hear him sip down a drink. I tug the phone away from my ear. At least I found my other shoe.

"I understand, sir," I mumble.

"Good. Good. Good."

"So. When will the other interview be, and who with?"

"Uh, The Morgman and Claff-Cliff Brothers of something or whatever."

"You mean the Morgan and Clint Brothers, Sir?"

"Yea, Yea, whatever. Just be at their building by seven...ish. Near 1500 north, Spring Cove, kinda near the corner I think." I glance at the clock, and my heart jumps rapidly.

"Sir it is 6:51."

"Than hurry."

"Sir, I hope you do not mind me saying this. But next time can you please tell me aheard of time about an interview. I feel that this one is scheduled too late, and I will not have enough-" He had already hung up. My heart sank.

Quickly I run around the room, gathering all that I needed. My heart beated loud in my chest, mixed feelings swelled in my mind. I snatched the most formal dark jacket I could find, and brushed my messy hair into a bun. I glanced in the mirror, what a mess. I ripped the brush through my hair again, fustrated. Too many tangles. My hair is very wavy today, a thought provoked me that maybe I could actually look nice. I gathered my hair into a loose ponytail at the back of my head, I ruffled through the curls quickly and impatiently. I messily put on my makeup, smudging in the colors as best as I could in such little time. I comb the mascara brush through my eye lashes than blink twice. I look around for some jewelery and snatched some long dark earings that looked far too complicated for my taste. Why did I buy them?

I made my way towards the door, tying to hook them into my earlopes. I jerked my head towards the clock. 6:55. I grab my dull black purse laying on the floor, and rip it open making sure I had all the contents within that I needed. Pen? Check. Recorder? Check. Tape? Check. Notebook? Check. Phone? No. I ran to my bed and seach around for my phone. I shove my hands through the tangled sheets until I found it, than through it into my purse.

I rush out the door, out of my apartment, and don't even bother to lock the door. My heels click against the concret sidewalk as I jog to the subway. I try my best to dodge the cowded streets around my as I make my way through. I see so many different face, some toubled, others pleased, but most tired.

My shoes click obnoxiously loud as I walk down the stairs to the subway station, I know the next train will leave by seven. To me sevenish is a very vague time, and can be easily presumed to be at any time around seven. So I am safe as long as I hurry, besides busy-boring-business-men that I am about to interview are never the type to do things on time. As a Journalist I am always hoping to interview someone just remotely interesting, but with these men it is another matter. I just get to hear another oppinion about politics or about the economy, or how powerful their business is on the market, or how great their stock is doing. What kind of story is that?

I push past people, trying to make it towards the train. I have no idea what time it is, i just hope it is sometime before seven. I search for the right train, walking up and down the station. I find it, and quickly pass through all the bodies of frantic people. I slip through the doors of the cart and try to find a place to sit or stand. Lucky for me, all the seats are taken.
My eyes glance around for a rail and to grasp onto. My hands take hold of a grey railing near a window. I get situated and impatiently tap my foot against the ground. I can hear people breathe, others cough, most talking on their cell phones. It's not to quiet, but on the other hand it is much too loud. The train is dirty, and the walls have gathered dirt and grime over the years. The only things on this train to me are the people riding within it.

I look to my left there is a man sitting in a seat, he looks kind of young. His eyes seem very alert, and he looks like he is actually awake. He is strange, he catches me looking at him,
and I quickly look away.

"Would you like to take my seat M'am?" I hear him ask. I pretend not to hear him.

A couple moments pass. I am mad at myself because I did not look at the man long enough to judge wether or not he looked attractive, I was too caught up thinking about how awake and strange he seemed to be.

I hear the train screech against the rails, as it comes to a stop. People flood out of the train, others stay, some enter. The doors close, and I quickly find a place to sit, but it's next to the strange man. I stop for a moment people push past me. Than I quickly dash towards the seat, putting myself ahead of any possiple competetion. I sit down on the seat a little too quickly.

I can feel someone look at me. I jerk my head the left, and dicover that it's the strange man looking at me. I can get a better view of him now, he is kind of cute. His eyes are probably his best feature, they are dark, like wood. His golden hair is a little messy, but his aura is very bright and attractive. His complextion is bright pale, he still has his boy-like youth. I wonder if he can feel me judging him like the cover of a book.

"You have a seat now." He says plainly. His voice is clear and crsip, not to deep, yet not to light.

"Yes I do." I agree, as guilt pours through my spirit. I feel my cheeks burn red.

"You could have had my seat before M'am."

"Yea." I look down. Than I hear a laugh. Is that him laughing?

"You take things to seriously," he mutters to himself, he laughs again.

"Why did you laugh?" I questioned

"You looked so guilty! And your cheeks are so red. Do you always blush so easily?"

"I don't know."

"Well there is no need too. Next time someone offers you a seat you should take it."

"Okay..." I look away, I can still feel him look at me.

"So, where you going? Work? That's where I am going. I thought that I should leave a little earlier today. It is quite busy."

"I am going to work..." I say with a little groan.

"Oh. You do not seem quite excited to be going. It's a beautiful day."

"There is no reason to be."

"Why is that?" I turn my head back towards him.

"I hate my job," I say very slowly.

"Well that's a shame. Why slave away to something you hate?"

"There's only so many jobs for Journalists in this town. I wanted to be a writer for a while, but that didn't work out so well."

"I am sorry. That's too bad. I am a writer too. Well, only in my free time." I find myself blinking twice in awe.

"Free time?"

"Yes. I work at the Library, go to school, than come home and write. Its very good business." He says proudly.

"At least you enjoy what you do."

"Yes."

"Yea..." I say in agrement. There is silence for a moment and than I look around the train, trying to act distracted. Than the strange man started talking again.

"You shouldn't do your job if you do not enjoy it. You are only wasting time. You look so stressed, it shows. I think you would be much happier if you quit your job and found another

one."

"Okay. Thanks for the advice."

"So you got an interview?"

"Yea."

"Who with if I might ask?'

"Morgan and Clint something."

"Never heard of them, sorry."

"They live on 1500 North and Spring Cove, do you think you know where that is?" The strange man looks at me a little puzzled.

"Are you sure those two streets are actually near each other?" He questions, still with puzzled look on his face.

"Yea, I am sure. My boss gave them to me."

"Maybe he got a little confused."

"1500 North is not the way this train is going. It's a couple of blocks from main street, near that little chinese place."

"So I am going the wrong way...?" I ask myself, as I feel a pit of anger swell up inside of me. Tony gave me the wrong directions, again.



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