2. At home after the party

With her red leather, wood-soled, Swedish clogs on her feet, walking downhill on a graveled driveway, with her state of sobriety being what it was, she slipped and skidded a little. She grabbed the rail along those concrete steps that led down to her basement cubbyhole apartment, to steady herself and then she leaned against it to get the keys out of her bag. 

The stairs always collected windfall, and as usual she swept them up with the broom she kept handy, swept them into the plastic grocery bags she saved for this, and put them in the trash can. She liked the steps to stay cleared off so that it didn't feel like stepping over a gutter to get home.

She closed the door behind her and let the bag slouch on the floor. At the sink, she filled her big tumbler with water and put it on the dresser, and changed into her pajamas. Beside the water glass was her compact of birth control pills. She'd finished the pink ones and was at the end of the white ones, too. Her old boyfriend, Ben, flashed into her mind. She didn't miss him and his pale skin and big eyebrows. She popped the second-to-the-last pill out of its blister and swallowed it. She could probably go off the things now that she was free. 

Salt Lake City could be expensive for an underemployed 25-year-old woman, but she'd lucked out. The rent in this basement was only 300 bucks--a steal. She locked the door and went to bed, listening to the radio way down low to help her focus on sleep. The people who lived upstairs made the floor creak, and the furnace and the water heater sounded loud until she'd gotten used to them.


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