In the moonlight, Miss Lovely Bones lets her hair down and the quake fades from her mind like theatre music as the credits exit. The angry traffic, the congestion of people with Google Maps bobbing like lanterns on the sidewalks and the New York minute — it all disappears when she returns home, to a small apartment in Midtown West. She swings for the handle and the darkness swallows her wholesome. The door knocker hits like a clock punch and she’s on her own time, but will have to punch out in the morning at 7 a.m.
The world needs Ms. Lovely Bones.
Miss Lovely Bones keeps the place smelling earthy and youthful, except for the kitchen which is troubled by a gas hiss she’ll never get over. The light from the 40 watt bulb beneath the lamp shade in her bedroom creases her face at the nose, horizontally, and she sets her bag down on the floor.
Miss Lovely Bones is content, but sleep is out of focus. Nausea sets in and she lies awake at night wondering if the world wants to be a better place. The city always stirs and so do the people.