Predawn footsteps make creaky music over wooden floors. A door closes, and then locks. Silence. The distinctive sound of female urination. From a small metal vent, warm air sighs and spills out into the apartment. A brief splash of running water. The bathroom door unlocks, and then opens. More footsteps. More creaking. The couch groans as she sits down. The heat suddenly stops its breathing. She rubs her hands together to warm them up. A faint blue light glows from the screen of her cellphone. Outside, a garbage truck lumbers down the street in the dark. As the driver pumps the pedal the brakes emit a high pitched squeal and the truck halts just below the window. Like a dog the idling engine seems to sniff loudly at the night, searching for a scrap of silence. Time passes slowly. The truck appears to vanish and quiet emerges once more. There is gentle wind. The sound of leaves rustling. A croaking crow sings a staccato solo to no one. The suspension of a passing car lurches, mouselike and furtive, and then it is gone. In the freezer a frozen, fleshy bird hears no sound. A baster waits, patient and plotting in a darkened drawer. Within a few hours the apartment will be alive and bustling with family and friends, perfumed by the smell of roasting turkey and sweet stuffing. Liberal libations will bring about much laughter and many smiles, followed later by a few red-faced arguments and frowns. For now though, everything feasts on sleep.
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