Short Stories by Lola Nation - Make it Short

I came here to write and write I shall. There is a woman in black slacks, searching her quilted purse for a lighter, walking to her car, checking her messages, most likely from grandchildren who barely speak to her but to get her paycheck.  It’s 7:00 p.m., I always wonder when I’m staring out my downtown apartment who has to be at work so early or so late.  What benefit do they get?  Are they wearing monogramed watches?  Do they get perks?  Or are they subject to the jerks I’ve known my whole life.  She, who works well, with difficult people. I got a blue writing desk.   I have seven windows. The last time I wrote for exercise was 2007, I was in the same city, in what was considered the Poet’s District.  Now, I live in the Library District.   Still alone, drinking cheap red wine, listening to alternative music that brings me down to my own level, missing you, ten years later and every version in between. Fire escape and brick by mortar brick buildings surround me.