When I drive around the corner of my block, I see two ambulances and several police cars surrounding a Mini Cooper that seemed to have crashed sideways into a street lamp, just a few doors from my house.

I get out of my car and walk up to Jessie, the town's marathon runner who is well known for running in tight athletic gear even on the coldest days of the year. She's now wearing black running clothes with streaks of neon along her side and back that reflects light when light shines upon them. Not even the first snowfall of the year keeps her from her routine.

"Hey Jessie, what happened?" I ask in a whisper. She seems mesmerized by the scene.

"The car ran off the road and just..." Her voice catches. She shakes her head and takes a long deep breath.

"That's horrible," I say staring at the police as they toss a white blanket on the ground. A small crowd has formed, so I can't see what they're covering. "Who was in the car?"

The yellow police tape along the border of the mausoleum entrance flaps against the smooth evening breeze. I pull up to the officer directing traffic.

"Excuse me Officer. What happened?"

The officer glances at the line of cars behind me and swings his arm at his elbow in a circular motion. "Crime scene, keep moving."

I close my window and inch my way around the zigzag parking of six police cars and a black truck with the word Coroner painted on the back wall.

Katelyn is standing at the corner talking to a young officer with a day old beard and deep set eyes.

The voice hisses in  my ear, Find out what the officer is telling her. 

I spotted this while entering Route 1/9 North from Secaucus Road in New Jersey. This wall gets a fresh dose of graffiti every few weeks. This time I thought it was a pretty nice piece. It reads:

Crap, I only have fifteen minutes left.

I wipe the mayonnaise from my lips, lie down on the couch, and text Joe the grocery list.

RozLove29: Babe, buy white cheese, milk, bread, coffee, chocolate syrup, swiss cheese, ham, eggs, turkey, provolone cheese, and Leinenkugel Berry Weiss.  Please don't forget my beer. Smooch!

"How much time you got left on your break, Roz?" Karen asks when she enters our lounge.

I look at my wrist watch after sliding my phone into my side pocket. "Twelve minutes."

Damn it. I forgot to wash Bella's uniform for her T-ball game at noon.

RozLove29: Can you spray Bella's t-ball shirt with a ton of Febreeze? Her game is at twelve. Don't forget her glove. Love you!

Karen takes off her blue shirt and whips it around to freshen it up. "Girl, you know what Mike did yesterday? Well, he had the nerve to-"

Karen goes on as I drift into automatic mode, nodding at her pauses, huffing when she laughs as if I found the humor in her story. I don't have the energy right now to keep up with her soap opera relationship, but I know she needs me to listen. She listens to my stories all the time.

Karen finishes the details of her fight with her husband and leaves our break room laughing. Her story had something to do with whipped cream and pillow cases. Damn, I should have paid attention.

Nine minutes left.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and open them again.  The silence of the room is interrupted by the beeping sound of a distant monitor. I'm on my break, someone else will get it. I only had five hours of sleep after yesterday's shift. Why can't I get a nap now? Just an itty bitty Micro Nap, as Lucas calls it.

I can't wait to see Lucas in his play later this afternoon. He's playing the lead in his school's adaptation of High School Musical. My son has quite a voice.  I pull out my phone and set an alarm to wake up at two thirty, with enough time before his show to shower, eat, and get a latte with a Turbo Shot at Dunkin Donuts. That should pull me through all the way to the dinner afterwards. I have to get home by nine so I can get a few more hours of sleep before my next shift at eleven.

That constant beeping is keeping me up. I think it's Mrs. Johannes - she's been having trouble with her oxygen levels. That poor old lady...she lost her husband last year and her son the year before. Now she's alone, with no children or grandchildren to keep her hopes up. I'll make sure to get that Star magazine she asked for earlier as soon as the gift shop opens.

It's still beeping. Karen should have gotten that by now. She knows I'm on my break. Just another two seconds and I'll run out to -

There. Someone finally got it.

What will I wear to the play? I can already hear Vicki tell me to put on more blush. Though she's only ten years old, she gives me tips on makeup and hair styling techniques from watching videos online. Thank goodness she showed me how to style my hair into a twist with just a pencil; only God knows how many scrunchies I've lost around here.

Six minutes left.

I press my eyes shut and take a slow, deep breath again. "Sleep damn it!" I say through clenched teeth.

I conjure up images of starry night skies, snow-capped mountains, baby seals, wind blowing through trees, ocean waves along a beach....

There's a crowded Tiki bar just a few feet away. I'm wearing a sky blue halter dress that accentuate my shoulders. It flaps softly in the sea breeze as I walk barefoot across the beach towards the counter. A young bartender wearing a white cotton t-shirt and worn blue jeans checks me out from head to toe.

"A Chocolate Martini please," I say in a breathy voice.

Enrique Iglesias, my bartender, smiles gloriously at me as he finishes pouring the mixture into the martini glass. The drink's chocolate color makes me lick my lips. "Here you go Gorgeous," he says, in a delicious Spanish accent. I suck in a quick breath. His eyes are aimed right at my breasts.

I take a long sip and soon I'm sucking in air. The Tiki bar is now empty. Enrique picks me up over the counter, wraps my legs around his waist and buries his day-old beard into a perfect spot my neck. His hands creep up my back, untie my halter dress, and...

The alarm on my phone goes off. I open my eyes to the darkness of the break room. I have a minute to wash my face, fix my hair, and get a 5-Hour Energy bottle from the vending machine.

I release a loud sigh and straighten out my scrubs. Mrs. Johannes's monitor is going off again. It's four thirty in the morning - time to get back to work.

Thank to my cousin, Jose Luis, for this perfect image.

I find myself resting in the middle of a dark, empty forest. The dry branches above rustle when a gentle breeze whispers by. The wind turns my head to a road bending towards the soft glow of sunlight. Is it dusk or dawn?

And where's my sweater? When I go hiking I often take one in case the weather dips, but I don't carry one today. That's odd. I'm usually prepared for these sorts of things.

Victor often made fun of my Girl Scout tendencies. I used to pack large lunches and extra clothes in case we ran into a cozy Bed and Breakfast on our day trips. He loved living life without a plan, without preparation, just to prove he was a survivor. We would occasionally argue about me wasting too much time packing for the unforeseen.

"I roll with the punches," Victor would to say.

"And what if I kick you?" I'd respond, trying my hardest to trump him.

"That's why I stick with you, Katherine. Life punches me down to the ground, but you kick me to get back up."

He would laugh and then hug me, and that would make our argument fade away. We would have made fifty years in May, but Victor didn't make it. A massive stroke took him from me last month. My heart was broken. I don't think I ever recovered.

And now, I'm in the middle of this strange forest without a sweater to keep me warm, without food to feed my hunger...my troop leader would have been so disappointed. I wonder, what would Victor do?

"Over here, Katherine," Victor's sweet voice rings from around the bend. "I have your sweater for you."

I chuckle. Of course, now, Victor is prepared.

Water swooshes towards my side of the room.