A different scenario for today’s exercise: A doctor with a stay-at-home husband and one year old son has just finished a 20-hour shift.
And then her eyes snapped open, the elevator doors disappearing in front of her. Too dark, she lifted her right arm to turn on the lights. But all she saw were elevator buttons. So Minerva stepped out of the metal compartment, somehow remembering to pull the rolling briefcase behind her as she stepped into the fourth floor of the parking garage.
Plastic wheels rolling on top of concrete, ur-ur-ur-ur, Shane’ll have to take Marcellus to the pediatrician tomorrow I’m dead on my feet ur-ur nothing open this time of night ur-ur too hungry to eat anyway ur-ur call in the morning about the Henderson labs ur-ur-ur labs labs labs golden labs black labs HENDERSON labs ur-ur dog and a butterfly, she roll back down to the warm soft ground if you go chasing rabbits — she stopped, the rabbit jumping in front of her then bounding off, hippity-hoppity, “Get OUT!”
The sound of her shout echoing back from the concrete startled her. Looked around. Had passed the last car on this level. Twisted around, her car was twenty feet behind her. Sigh, push the retractable handle down, pick up the briefcase, let the burden of its weight keep her awake as she walked back to her car.