It’s Not like Now, Nobody Knows You
The music from the kitchen seeped under Cristina’s bedroom door. “One two three, five six seven.” Her hand tapped back and forth. “One two three,” her ribcage jerked side to side, “five six seven.” Her feet moved under her desk. There was no hope for concentration on the story she was writing. She got out of her chair and clumsily sashayed across 7 counts worth of floor to let the music in as if it were a cat scratching at her door.
