The alarm clock makes a small noise before it starts beeping, like an electronic inhale to prepare its circuits. I am already awake and hit the off button in the middle of the second beep.
In the shower, the water drums my face, slicks my shoulders and gurgles down the drain. I smile into the stream and hear a rhythm played against my teeth.
The coffee maker hisses and purrs. Hangers scrape against the bar. For five minutes my world becomes the scream of the hairdryer.
Whirr of tires on the highway, endless chatter of the radio, something is rolling around on the floorboard and clanking under the passenger seat.
In the office, the fluorescent bulbs buzz above me and my computer plays a few notes to let me know it’s awake. There is a screw loose on my chair making it squeak.
A co-worker passes and tells me, ”good morning.” I answer and am surprised by the sound of my own voice.
