I shrugged and rolled my eyes as I polished off the dregs of my tea. “Beats me. I didn’t ask. I’m getting sick of his excuses. He was drunk as a sailor this morning, and I couldn’t bear the thought of him breathing beer down my throat, so I got in the shower before he even made it to the bedroom.” I didn’t bother mentioning how rough he had been Saturday morning; I didn’t want Dana to think it was worse than it was. I knew perfectly well this relationship was heading downhill; I didn’t need anyone quoting battered-women statistics to talk me into ending it. I just needed some time to figure out what to do with myself.

The day passed as it usually did: work interspersed with the occasional game of Free Cell, vending-machine lunch, idle chat with Dana, and switching off my computer at four. “I wish I had the energy to get here as early as you do,” Dana pouted. “I was ready to go home an hour ago, and I still have an hour left.”

“Aw, poor baby, you have my sympathy,” I cooed. Dana swatted at me and chuckled as I stepped out of the cube. “See you bright and early tomorrow.”

I walked out to my car, realizing the last thing I wanted to do was to go home. I didn’t particularly want to see Dylan, because he had been unpredictable the last few weeks, and I did not deal well with unpredictability. So I drove instead to the Barnes & Noble down the street.

I bought a mint hot chocolate and settled at a table in the café with a Newsweek. As a rule, I never watched the news on TV or read the newspaper; it always depressed me, and I knew anything really important would make its way to me eventually through conversation or rioting mobs. But every now and then I would check in on the world, and the safe, cozy environment of the bookstore café seemed a good place to do it.

I sipped my cocoa, reading every article except the ones on politics, which never interested me under any circumstances. Toward the back was an article on national housing trends. I scanned statistics on population flux and other dull subjects until reaching one which stated that more people moved to California last year than to any other state in the union. I had never been to California, but the article made me wish I had. It was in the seventies in Southern California right now, and here I was drinking hot chocolate and scraping frost off of my windshield in the mornings before work. Unfortunately, it sounded like the cost of living was way more expensive than I would have ever guessed; I wondered briefly what a job like mine was worth out there.