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Description
Breakfast At Tiffany's

Sasha examined her scarf critically in the mirror. All the color was fading out. Come to think of it, her cardigan was looking a bit shabby too. And it was just new last fall! Obviously they didn't put nearly as much quality into the dyes they were using nowadays. No wonder people bought things one year and threw them away the next! At this rate she'd look like the rag lady. But they were both red, her favorite color and she always liked to look good when going out.

Nearby Andy was fast asleep again. She hoped it didn't signal some sort of personality trait, he'd always been so boisterous, but this last... month? Yes, about a month or so, he'd been such a quiet darling, the perfect baby. And she wasn't ready to complain about that, not yet. The constant crying, the getting up in the middle of the night, she'd been run ragged! She gingerly picked him up and tucked him into the baby carrier. She would have liked to sue the stroller, but the landlord still hadn't cleared the rubble out from her front yard! How long could it take to build a simple retaining wall? It wasn't as if her garden were particularly big after all. Of course with the streets the way they were these days, it would be hard enough going as it was. Even the cars seemed to have stopped rushing by, which meant at least the potholes were useful for something.

She went carefully downstairs, avoiding the broken step. That was another thing, the house was in terrible repair! The step was broken, the bathroom tap leaked, there was dust everywhere, though that last one was probably her fault. She made a note to vacuum again, not that it seemed to do any good, it was a never ending battle. Perhaps the vacuum needed fixing as well. She'd have to have a word with Bernie, when he got back. The place was just falling apart without him.

Bernie! She'd almost forgot! Nobody would be home and she'd have to lock up. Silently she cursed the current Situation (Not a war oh no, or even a threat of a war, just... diplomatic misunderstandings.) that had kept her husband away so long. What did they need him for anyway? Was he a soldier? A tactician? Oh no, just a field services coordinator. (Company talk for someone who fixed phone lines, though she'd never say that to his face, he took the job so seriously.) She sighed as she closed and locked the back door. (It had to be slammed since it was coming off a hinge, and of course the front was all messy from the gardening work.) Well, it could be worse, poor Steph's squeeze was actually in the army, he was away months at a time. She'd have to ask her about that.

Or maybe she shouldn't, Steph could be a bit touchy and once hadn't spoken to her for weeks. But you had to find something to talk about didn't you? To pass the time. Their weekly chats were of course little more than a weak excuse to eat out at Tiffany's and enjoy some peace and quiet, thought frankly things were wonderfully peaceful right now as-is, and the new waiter gave terrible service.

She walked quickly down the street, shoes making echoing click-clack sounds off the old worn pavement. It was another quiet saturday, the streets empty of cars and pedestrians alike, save the odd person lounging about outdoors, passing the time. But there was something odd... something not quite right about it all. The feeling had been troubling Sasha for a while now, and only intensified as she strolled the familiar route to her favorite cafe. Something off-key and not right about the world. Familiar yet strange. She'd felt it before, hadn't she? Perhaps she-

Snow!

With a sudden burst of clarity Sasha gasped. How could she not have seen it? Snow! There was snow everywhere! It was grey and gritty and not very deep, but it had snowed in the night and she hadn't even noticed! She turned to Andy and cooed.

"Wasn't your mommy a silly goose!"

There she was, winding herself up for a good long worry over what? An inch of smog-coated powder! That's what she got for staying indoors all day, wasn't it? It's not like it wasn't obvious, the trees lining the street had long ago gone from green to yellow, and now there were just a few straggling brown leaves fluttering in the cold wind, waiting the new spring.

Oh she had a summer mind, obviously. She hardly noticed the thick grey clouds, blocking out the sun. To her the subdued light was as welcoming as midsummer glare. Moreso perhaps. And after all, what had she wrapped up so warm for? She patted her cardigan again. Just like me, she though, getting old and a bit frayed around the edges, but still doing a good job.

Mr Meyers was outside the bank again, just like every saturday. Always waiting for his pension money, though Sasha was growing doubtful of this. And always wearing that same tweed shirt. She at least wore a different scarf every week. perhaps his mind was going, that happened to the older folk, and she fondly remembered when he'd gone out one day and collected mail from everyone on the street! Oh dear.

She gave him a polite hello and he returned with a curt nod. Stepanie was at their 'usual' table, sheltered from the wind and sun by a lovely lavender hedge. (Though sadly it had died sometime during the hot weather of summer,s o it was no longer quite so lovely, but why change the habit of a friendship?) She sat down and ordered her usual tall black. Steph had her and a cinnamon bun. Sasha didn't blame her, she always felt ravenous after her coffee, but the food here was terrible, just an hour later and you were peckish.

A twittering distracted her. There was a blackbird perched on the next table, how cute! She'd never heard one sound quite so, so... sparrowlike before. Was it a sparrow, no, surely not, it was too large. Blackbird. She gave it a wave and, startled, it flew off.

The bird flew up, over the tables with their mold-stained linen. It had been looking for food, since food had become so hard to find. Everything was dying. Below a thin and ragged woman, dressed in tatters sat, idly talking to a slumped and dessicated figure. The remains of others, which had been outside when the bomb struck, were in worse condition. The shelter had protected the figure at the table, and the smaller figure in a backpack placed neatly beneath a chair. Higher and higher the bird flew, over the gently crumbling buildings and brown countryside, while the lady below, the sole source of sound in a ten mile radius, spoke unheedingly to empty air.

"That't he problem with this place," Sasha said. "The service has really gone downhill!"

Description
Breakfast At Tiffany's

Sasha examined her scarf critically in the mirror. All the color was fading out. Come to think of it, her cardigan was looking a bit shabby too. And it was just new last fall! Obviously they didn't put nearly as much quality into the dyes they were using nowadays. No wonder people bought things one year and threw them away the next! At this rate she'd look like the rag lady. But they were both red, her favorite color and she always liked to look good when going out.

Nearby Andy was fast asleep again. She hoped it didn't signal some sort of personality trait, he'd always been so boisterous, but this last... month? Yes, about a month or so, he'd been such a quiet darling, the perfect baby. And she wasn't ready to complain about that, not yet. The constant crying, the getting up in the middle of the night, she'd been run ragged! She gingerly picked him up and tucked him into the baby carrier. She would have liked to sue the stroller, but the landlord still hadn't cleared the rubble out from her front yard! How long could it take to build a simple retaining wall? It wasn't as if her garden were particularly big after all. Of course with the streets the way they were these days, it would be hard enough going as it was. Even the cars seemed to have stopped rushing by, which meant at least the potholes were useful for something.

She went carefully downstairs, avoiding the broken step. That was another thing, the house was in terrible repair! The step was broken, the bathroom tap leaked, there was dust everywhere, though that last one was probably her fault. She made a note to vacuum again, not that it seemed to do any good, it was a never ending battle. Perhaps the vacuum needed fixing as well. She'd have to have a word with Bernie, when he got back. The place was just falling apart without him.

Bernie! She'd almost forgot! Nobody would be home and she'd have to lock up. Silently she cursed the current Situation (Not a war oh no, or even a threat of a war, just... diplomatic misunderstandings.) that had kept her husband away so long. What did they need him for anyway? Was he a soldier? A tactician? Oh no, just a field services coordinator. (Company talk for someone who fixed phone lines, though she'd never say that to his face, he took the job so seriously.) She sighed as she closed and locked the back door. (It had to be slammed since it was coming off a hinge, and of course the front was all messy from the gardening work.) Well, it could be worse, poor Steph's squeeze was actually in the army, he was away months at a time. She'd have to ask her about that.

Or maybe she shouldn't, Steph could be a bit touchy and once hadn't spoken to her for weeks. But you had to find something to talk about didn't you? To pass the time. Their weekly chats were of course little more than a weak excuse to eat out at Tiffany's and enjoy some peace and quiet, thought frankly things were wonderfully peaceful right now as-is, and the new waiter gave terrible service.

She walked quickly down the street, shoes making echoing click-clack sounds off the old worn pavement. It was another quiet saturday, the streets empty of cars and pedestrians alike, save the odd person lounging about outdoors, passing the time. But there was something odd... something not quite right about it all. The feeling had been troubling Sasha for a while now, and only intensified as she strolled the familiar route to her favorite cafe. Something off-key and not right about the world. Familiar yet strange. She'd felt it before, hadn't she? Perhaps she-

Snow!

With a sudden burst of clarity Sasha gasped. How could she not have seen it? Snow! There was snow everywhere! It was grey and gritty and not very deep, but it had snowed in the night and she hadn't even noticed! She turned to Andy and cooed.

"Wasn't your mommy a silly goose!"

There she was, winding herself up for a good long worry over what? An inch of smog-coated powder! That's what she got for staying indoors all day, wasn't it? It's not like it wasn't obvious, the trees lining the street had long ago gone from green to yellow, and now there were just a few straggling brown leaves fluttering in the cold wind, waiting the new spring.

Oh she had a summer mind, obviously. She hardly noticed the thick grey clouds, blocking out the sun. To her the subdued light was as welcoming as midsummer glare. Moreso perhaps. And after all, what had she wrapped up so warm for? She patted her cardigan again. Just like me, she though, getting old and a bit frayed around the edges, but still doing a good job.

Mr Meyers was outside the bank again, just like every saturday. Always waiting for his pension money, though Sasha was growing doubtful of this. And always wearing that same tweed shirt. She at least wore a different scarf every week. perhaps his mind was going, that happened to the older folk, and she fondly remembered when he'd gone out one day and collected mail from everyone on the street! Oh dear.

She gave him a polite hello and he returned with a curt nod. Stepanie was at their 'usual' table, sheltered from the wind and sun by a lovely lavender hedge. (Though sadly it had died sometime during the hot weather of summer,s o it was no longer quite so lovely, but why change the habit of a friendship?) She sat down and ordered her usual tall black. Steph had her and a cinnamon bun. Sasha didn't blame her, she always felt ravenous after her coffee, but the food here was terrible, just an hour later and you were peckish.

A twittering distracted her. There was a blackbird perched on the next table, how cute! She'd never heard one sound quite so, so... sparrowlike before. Was it a sparrow, no, surely not, it was too large. Blackbird. She gave it a wave and, startled, it flew off.

The bird flew up, over the tables with their mold-stained linen. It had been looking for food, since food had become so hard to find. Everything was dying. Below a thin and ragged woman, dressed in tatters sat, idly talking to a slumped and dessicated figure. The remains of others, which had been outside when the bomb struck, were in worse condition. The shelter had protected the figure at the table, and the smaller figure in a backpack placed neatly beneath a chair. Higher and higher the bird flew, over the gently crumbling buildings and brown countryside, while the lady below, the sole source of sound in a ten mile radius, spoke unheedingly to empty air.

"That't he problem with this place," Sasha said. "The service has really gone downhill!"