Smooth Jazz plays its tune as she opens box by box.
Dust slowly floats into the thin air as objects are placed on shelves and cabinets.
She turns and looks over her shoulder, imagining a suave young man in a suit waiting for her to go to a Gala of some sort, perhaps an art exhibition.
Perhaps this was the beginning of something grand, the ambient light in her bedroom shined softly on her paintings and gave her a sense of new perspective.
Not all men could be conquered by her poise and alluding eyes, but surely one would come to fancy her.
For a moment, she wondered who could be living in the apartment next to her.
Perhaps a young painter with long hair and a low tolerance for cats.
Or maybe a struggling writer who smoked more than he slept.
She enjoyed the mystery and hoped to not find out who did reside there for as long as possible.
Imagination was always more entertaining to her.
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