Descriptors: A (Try to) Get Lucky Story

She was standing in the kitchen. The heat was running. If it warmed up today, she hadn’t been outside to tell. Still wearing in the old gym shorts and T-shirt she wore to bed, she plunged a spoon into frozen vanilla yogurt, wondering what she would ever do if she had to travel fast. Last night, she left for a class, wondering if she should pack a valuable because it would suck if everyone left their holiday lights up and one of them burned out and started a fire. She did it anyway, left the lights on and, when she came home, it felt good to see them still lit and greeting her like the night would never disappoint her.He was across town, lying in his tub.

He lived in a scrubbed down old mansion with five roommates, who usually never saw one another enough to learn whether they liked one another enough to live together. Since no one cooked, there were never fights over doing dishes. The kitchen was an assortment of take-out containers. An urn with coffee that was fresh two days ago was washed by him. No one else did it. This day has to end, he thought, holding his breath under the water. This day has to end. It was almost 7 at night.

No one was around. Again. No one was ever around. Ever. The place was dead. Again. No one was ever here when you wanted anyone to be here. Ever. No one was paying attention. No one was watching what you did. Because no one was around to see. The freedom was stultifying. How many times can you check your cell to see that no one called you? Again. That no one was looking for you? Ever. It was the same. No matter what you thought had changed or what might change, it didn’t matter in the end. Because you were alone and luck wasn’t waiting for you. The bartender always had the same amused expression on his face when you finally turned around and ordered.