Green, yellow, then red. I pushed the brakes, easing to a stop. Not another car in sight, I yawned and glanced over at the passenger seat. My briefcase sat there awkwardly, threatening to fly forward should I be less forgiving of the breaks. Its black leather handle, worn from years of use, was broken in the middle. Waiting wasn’t easy for me. I had worked two shifts, just like every other day. Each hour dribbled on, like a leaky faucet when you have a pounding headache. Green light, I drove on.

The streets were cold, and the wind had quickened to a jog. Lazy, winter clouds frothed into pattern less blotches across the sky. The trees stood ridged, stiff from the long months without warmth. Every car’s windshield was iced over, and the roads were slick from the long days of frozen rain. Time passed as slowly as the frequent billboards that advertised every product imaginable, or so it seemed, on this long drive home.

My prison finally came into view. It was an old two-story apartment complex, painted a brittle mustard-yellow. The paint was cracked and peeling, sagging like open wounds around the wooden panels that were equally as worn. It had looked quite nice back in the seventies, but today it sat a sad remembrance of an era long past. The sign at the entrance read: “Glendale Luxury Apartments.” I wondered at their choice of the word “luxury.” A small, makeshift sign near the office building said: “1 and 2 Bedrooms Available – $100 Off First Months Rent.” I drove to the back of the main building and parked in the vacant lot.

“Long day,” I thought to myself, as I slammed the car door shut. Wrapping my arms around my chest, I strolled through the parking lot. My mind wondered the twisting trail of the busy day. It was an endless march of memories and faces all met in the past few hours. It took only a few seconds to unlock the door of my apartment and step inside, closing it back against the cold. The air inside was warm and heavy. The scent of cedar hung on the air. The dim light from the two front windows illuminated only a foot or so in front of them, and beyond that was a black void. I fumbled for the light switch and flipped it on. There was a click, which was followed by a bright flash, then darkness. “Not again,” I moaned aloud, cursing electricity and its inventor. I stumbled through the dark and flipped another switch; the room danced with red, yellow, and green light. I glanced over at the Christmas tree. It stood abandoned to one corner of the living room. The tree’s silent display of color cried out for my attention, and I promised myself once again that I’d take it down tomorrow. I threw my leather jacket across the arm of the black Lazyboy that faced a small, wide-screen TV. I longed for my bed and the sleep that would follow.