Today I find myself in a dying sunshine, with its falling leaves and the specific blue of its sky. The office girls on the street are little open flowers, hurrying to drink in the warmth by getting the last wears out of their peep-toe pumps, cap sleeves and peasant skirts before the cold comes. The boys just loosen their ties as they always do. The weather is perfect, and I am walking apace toward my certain failure.
You see, I have a meeting in about half an hour. A big meeting, with my bosses, my bosses' bosses, and the biggest-name potential clients that we have ever had. And I have nothing to show them but my smart little suit (why did I bother?), this beautiful autumn day, and a leather portfolio full of blank paper. Why did I think that I could do this? I am not cut out for the long hours of a magazine advertising maven. I don't have the print background, and I've been out of fresh ideas since my junior year of college. But they hired me anyway, probably thinking that I would suddenly rediscover whatever talent I once displayed with gusto on student-group posters and flashy websites.
I should turn around. I should turn around right now and go sit in the park. In fact, I should get used to the park, because that's where I will be living in a few short months if I don't get another job after I lose this one. Rents here are not cheap!
"Not cheap." Hmm. Not bad. I knelt on the sidewalk, ripping my pantyhose to shreds while I opened the portfolio and took out a pen. I started writing and sketching. "Not cheap, by design." "Not cheap, but you get what you pay for." An expensive-looking apartment, with one of these things sitting on the coffee table. A car with an all-leather interior and a GPS system, with one of these on the hardwood dash. Not bad. Twenty minutes left. Maybe I won't have to live in the park after all.