Grace turned off the water and watched the suds spin away. The gurgle noises were loud as the last bit was sucked down into nothingness. She walked over to what little counter space she had and grabbed the rags. Tenderly, she dried each dish and neatly stacked each one on top of her dormitory refrigerator. Noises rumbled in Grace's stomach. She opened her fridge, careful not to knock anything over. It wasn't often that she could keep her klutzy nature dormant. After the door was opened, Grace realized that moment that only baking soda resided on the bottom shelf hugging the back wall. Money. Where was her money? Grace looked around her private bank she liked to call 'secret hiding spot'! Reaching underneath her sink, she finds her glass jar. One hundred dollars was all she had left.
With ten dollars in her jean pocket, she found her keys and made her way to the door. It opened with a sound longing for some oil and off she went down the rotting stairs. Reaching the bottom, she made big strides with her long slender legs to the front door and exited to the ally. The aroma of fresh baked bread overwhelmed Grace's nose. Around the corner was the distinct lure of her most favorite bakery. Grace went on her way towards the mom and pop owned shop. A melodious bell rung as she opened the door. Grace gave the same quaint smile she always gave to the woman behind the counter, who immediately gave Grace her usual order of sourdough bread, milk, and a copy of the local paper. The woman, always kind, gave it to Grace for $5.00 even. Grace always appreciated this gesture. Grace thanked the woman and walked towards the exit. As she went to exit, Grace was doing her usual multitasking. She swung the door open and on her way out attempted to thrust her change into her pocket and bumped into someone. She kept her eyes on the ground and muttered sorry. As she hurried away, she smelled the melted cheese and tomato sauce smothering the pizza that they stranger was carrying. Pizza. She didn't recall any pizzeria in the area. Shrugging off the thought she continued on her way.
Back up the ally she went and into the door. Grace climbed up all the stairs to reach the 5th floor apartment. She looked at her rusted number 9a and walked inside. Her green and white stripped lawn chair welcomed her into it and she set her bread , milk, and paper onto her deluxe card board box table. It was time to do some job hunting. She opened her bag and noticed that the woman also threw in a small amount of butter. The woman always took care of Grace in making sure that she was fed. She ripped off a piece of bread and applied some butter. Shoving it into her mouth, she opened the paper and looked in the job listings. Nothing. Again. She had no qualifications for any of the listings. Not a surprise since every job wants a 4 year college degree, to which Grace did not have. College never mattered to Grace, it was experience in a job that mattered to her, but she didn't have that either if you didn't count the fast food. Grease, acne, and french fries don't get you very much of anywhere. Except that perhaps the french fries kept her stomach from yelling at her too terribly loud.
Still eating her bread, Grace stood up and walked back over to her window. The fog had lifted and she felt the warm glow of the sun shining on her face.
