"...I wandered over to my computer desk. On top of it sat an old, portable manual typewriter – a relic that belonged to my dad, a leftover from his early days as a writer. I never used it, of course; I couldn't imagine pounding those heavy keys every day, but there was something about it I really liked. It was inspiring. It reminded me of my journalistic roots. I ran my hands over the smooth keys and thought of the hands that had painstakingly typed out words, letters and stories before me. These days, I’d take all the inspiration I could get.
To the side of the computer desk, in the kitchen, is the back wall of the apartment, with three parallel windows. In the daytime, they flood the place with natural light and now, at night, the lights in the surrounding homes twinkle, reminding me I’m not alone. It’s a good feeling.
Because, even though I rarely admit it, living alone can be a little daunting. Oh, it’s not the X, it’s not anybody. It’s just good to know sometimes that others are around. That’s why I like Yowza – it’s nice to have another heartbeat in the house.
I stretched. Good night. After a quick brush and a floss that would leave my dentist frowning, I slid under the covers and let my head fall against the pillow. I almost reached for a book on the nightstand, but I knew I’d never make it through the prologue.
I ran through tomorrow’s agenda in my head; it seemed like it would be pretty quiet. That was the last thing I thought before I dozed off.
I couldn't have been more wrong...."
From Death on Deadline, Chapter One. Available at www.smashwords.com
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