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6:30 a.m. Lightly hopping, two gulls dampen their webs in the waves of the great lake. Patty silently coos over their cuteness. The morning is perfectly serene. A dog scampers behind her with elderly owner in tow. Their small stretch of the beach is otherwise deserted. She shuts her eyes against the sunrise, opens them to focus upon a fixed point in the bruise-colored horizon, and commences her yoga poses. Patty flexes without strain, ever mindful of breath.
7 a.m. Finished with her workout, Patty feels the synovial fluid bathing her cartilage. She walks nimbly across the sand the morning after an evening of hobbling in sexy but excruciating slingbacks at that lameass office party. She'd be more content wearing the lower-heeled black pumps to...what's this? Here she is thinking about shoes and she nearly stumbles over a pair in the sand. Fuchsia flats, hot magenta, tossed aside by a forgetful, unknowable owner and seemingly forlorn-looking so far from shore. Patty compulsively lines them up in a parallel manner. She considers taking them home with her but decides to leave them there.
8 a.m. Patty stretches out naked on the sheets of the unmade bed in her studio rental apt. She idly fills both hands with little tufts of auburn pubic hair and tugs lightly, a habit she's indulged since puberty. This occasionally leads to masturbation but serves only to keep her awake this morning. She really wants to sleep in...motherfucker, cocksucker, titty shitty on the grill!!! She learned this nonsense litany of profane oaths on the playground when she was little and it still pops into her mind when she wants to swear. Her brother Billy's reserved brunch for her at the swankazoid Signature Room of the John Hancock Bldg., tho, and she needs a better excuse to bail on that than lethargy. Billy seemed so eager for her to meet his new girlfriend when he invited her--and he really can't afford to eat at a place like that, he must really like her. At least she doesn't have to drag a date there.
9:30 a.m. Patty absently smoothes out the glittered black lace cocktail dress that she practically threw on in a sleepy daze after lollygagging in bed semi-listening to NPR's "Weekend Edition" until the last minute. Maybe I should start drinking coffee, she thinks, and heads out the door.
She glances at the small swimming pool next to her bldg. before crossing the sun-streaked sidewalk to the downtown express bus kiosk. The sight always brings within her a small exhibitionistic thrill. She must have been crazy to fuck anyone in there, much less a prick like Ray, with all those hundreds of high-rise windows above. It really did seem easy to conceal and easy to do in the water; flotation made up for the minimized lubrication. I gotta watch myself when I act out like that, she thinks, it could lead to other things that could affect my--
O goody goody gumdrops, there's a guy sitting at the other end of the short bench. Well, he looks harmless, a geek hunched over a newspaper...I'm just not in the mood for any creepy bullshit this morning...
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