Rose Jackson woke up listening to the birds as the sun filtered through her squeaky plantation shutters-another restless night passing her by. As her feet shuffled on the dusty kitchen floor, one poodle in her arms and the other two nipping at her heels to be let out, Rose squinted out the french doors looking for those chattery birds. The poodles would find them for sure, just like they did every morning. Quietly stepping onto the patio, the fresh and cool summer morning calmed her mind; if only for moment.
Back inside, the french press was ready to brew her daily poison and the English Muffin beckoned to be toasted. Rose opened the computer to catch up on the news that had penetrated the internet overnight. A murder suspect on the other side of town still on the loose, a political candidate challenged by the citizens and a late afternoon thunderstorm warning the town to be prepared with umbrellas and slickers. What’s the point of reading this?
It went on like that. Each morning, Rose felt the same things and followed the same routines. Her morning walk with one of the poodles always set her mind wandering–about the family squabbles, the old friends, and the damn safe deposit box.
As Rose sauntered down the block and saw the houses and their inhabitants come to life, she couldn’t help but wonder where all these people were getting their money-it seemed like more houses were popping their tops than champagne bottles at last night’s celebration.