My day is already rolling before I fully awake. I drag myself to the place, with slippers on my feet and bed hair over my face. The police officer asks me if everything is alright, and I put my hands in the pockets of my robe and stretch my arms as I shrug, "Everything's just fine, sir." There is a curious window on the other side of a shrub that I manage to bring myself to. It is a beautiful little window, far more ornate than one would expect on such a drab building. I step on the bucket and pull my eyes up to the ledge of the sill. When my eyes gain focus through the glass I see things that I was not meant to see. Things I can't un-see. And those in the scene that I have seen see me seeing them and they run for a door. I jump down and dash to the shrub, throwing myself haphazardly over the top and landing on a row of trash cans. I pull myself up from my wreck, and walk casual. "It appears I've lost a slipper," I whisper as I walk, with an eye tracking my bare foot. The officer sees me again and says "are you sure you're okay?" I nod with exaggeration and say, "Yes, I'm fine," and to put his mind at ease, "I'm a writer."