text: I hear faint footsteps heading towards my door. I listen for a moment. Loud at the beginning of the step and quiet as the rest of the foot comes down. They’re walking with the ball of their feet, not wearing heels though you can’t hear the click at the end. Only Margret, Shannon, and Alexa walk like that, but Alexa wear’s heels. A faint tick sounds through the office, like a bone popping. Margaret has joint issues. From what I’ve heard and researched, Joint Hypermobility, born with it. Just to be sure I listen for the jingling of her bracelets. That’s when I hear it, just over the sound of conversation outside my office. I already know what she’s here for, so I grab the witness statement from my drawer and set it at the edge of my desk closest to the door. I hear the distinct creak of my office door opening. Insead of looking up and pretending I didn’t know it was her, I simply point quickly and get back to typing. Margaret is my assistant. She’s in her early 20’s and hasn’t mastered business casual attire yet. She just wears black and white. It makes her blend in with everyone else, she has no personality in her clothes. Makes her unremarkable and ordinary. No professional will remember her. She has dark hair and a kind face. That won’t work for her here the way it works in bars though. She wants to be an attorney one day, she starts law school in August. She’ll get eaten alive in there if I don’t thicken her skin a bit. “Hurry up.” Until I said something she was just standing and staring at me. Waiting for me to greet her I suppose. Maybe she thinks I didn’t know she was there and was just pointing at the exact thing she needs for no reason. She’s not going to get a greeting though. She saw me point, she knows I heard her open the door. She needs to read social cues faster. That's the only way to read a witness and know which buttons to push for the answers you want. “Now.” I say sternly, she’s walking too slow. You have to be quick, efficient. Always look like you are doing something important even if you’re just playing snake on your laptop. “Make sure all witness statements and transcripts from the Buckly trial are ready by Monday morning. I’ll need them Tuesday for my meeting with the partners.” I say, all without looking up at her. “Of course Ms. Conley.” She hurries out of the room and shuts the door. I hear her exhale and mutter something under her breath. We have thin walls. I assume it has something to do with the fact that it’s 3:30 on Friday and the transcripts are at the courthouse. The courthouse that is backed up all day and isn’t open on the weekends. A rather impossible task, but she has two options. She’ll either somehow get the transcripts over the weekend, or she won’t and come to me saying the soonest she can get them is noon on Monday. If it’s the latter and she comes to me scared and asks to get them later, I’ll scold her then tell her to hurry along. If she comes to me confident saying that she is working as quickly as possible and she’ll get them to me as soon as she can, I’ll feign neutral acceptance. The meeting with the partners actually isn’t until Wednesday anyways. I know I’m sending her on a goose chase, but she’ll need friends in the court house. Bailiffs, judges, bookkeepers. She needs anyone and everyone she can get. I sit typing on my computer until I finish my opening statement and plan my cross examinations for the trial I have on Monday afternoon. After completing those and saving them to my shared drive, that my computer at work and laptop both have access to, I look up from my monitor. That is when I see my office is dark except for the light radiating off of my monitor, and my phone sitting silently and happily on my desk. I look towards my floor to ceiling windows and all I’m met with is a dark cityscape, the moon and clouds but no stars. You can’t see stars very well here, and most of the time, not at all. I tap the screen on my phone and check for new notifications. None, as per usual. I look around my office slightly in a daze, I normally register time and how long I’ve been here while I’m working. There is a cream colored loveseat by the windows, topped with a throw blanket with different shades of blue and purple, and throw pillows in the same colors. In front of me I stare at the frames on my wall, bachelor's degree in philosophy, law degree, and letter I got saying I passed the bar on my first try. That was just as impossible as Margret getting those transcripts to me by Monday morning. Those three are all in matching frames, equal lengths apart, evenly placed across the wall. I’m looking at them from behind on one side of my L-shaped desk. The other side is sitting to my right. In reality I took two desks and put them next to each other to imitate an L-shape. I’m picky and couldn’t find one I liked, so I made one myself. Behind me are bookshelves full of books, plants, nick nacks, vases, miniature busts of my favorite Greek goddesses. No picture frames though. There are none of those in here. No pictures on my desk, nor on my walls. I don’t even have a cute picture as my computer screen saver. It’s just an inspirational quote, that same one is set as my phone wallpaper too. I hear a chime. Excitedly, I picked up my phone, looking for the icon of one of my dating apps. Maybe Instagram or Snapchat. Hell, I'll settle for a Facebook message at this point. Instead I’m met with a notification telling me if I scan my app at Starbucks tomorrow I’ll get double stars. At least I know what I’ll be doing in the morning. I pack up quickly, stuffing my laptop into my tote bag, followed by my phone, empty tupperware, and case files to look over for the third time. Walking out of my office I grab my coat and reusable coffee cup. It’s empty now but I don’t like leaving things at the office over the weekend. I see Fred at the end of the hall as I walk out. Fred is one of our custodians, I see him almost every night. “Hey there little lady. You’re leaving even later than usual.” He checks his watch as I sigh dramatically and look him in the eye. He reminds me of a grandfather, not mine though. I don’t even know mine. “Yeah, I got distracted again. I didn't even realize it was already 10:30 until I looked up and saw I was shrouded in darkness” We both laugh. I turn to walk past him and smile. I don’t get to smile here often, being “The Shark” of the office means being nice isn’t in my wheelhouse. But it really is. Appearing mean and chaste works better in this business though. As I’m walking past him, my smile fades but he says “Don’t let me see you over the weekend. Take a break. Go on a date or something. You deserve a vacation from this place.” Just as quickly as it left, my smile returns again and I turn back. “How do you know I’m not already in a relationship?” I ask jokingly with the raise of my eyebrow. “Because there is no ring on your finger.” He mirrors my expression back at me and taps his left ring finger while holding it up to me. “I could have a boyfriend or a girlfriend.” I lower my eyebrow and cross my arms. “You could but I don’t think so because you are here all, waking hours of the day. If you’re in a relationship with anything it’s that desk of yours.” I lower my arms and giggle. “That’s a solid point you got there. I’ll call the detective's office and let them know they need you on staff.” He laughs and I see the crows feet near his eyes deepen. “I’m perfectly happy where I am.” He retorts. I give him the most genuine smile I have. “Have a good night Fred.” I throw over my shoulder as I turn towards the elevators. “You too Constance” I leave the highrise made of glass and steal. All sharp lines and polished to perfection. I’m walking along the road and all I hear is cars zooming by and the girl’s heels clicking on the sidewalk. I soon find myself walking into Flax. It's a relatively small business where I buy all of my pens, highlighters, legal pads. Just about everything I need to be able to do my job well. “What’s up boss lady” I hear from the counter on my right. “Why are you back so soon? I thought you just picked up some of my good pens the other day” Alyssa says as I redirect my walk to the counter. “I did, highlighters this time.” I look at her and smile. Alyssa is about my age. She’s married to Vanessa and has a daughter about two years old now. I remember when I walked in one day and she was blown up like a balloon. You could feel the joy radiating off of her. She hands me a photo, not a photo on her phone, a physical photo she printed out. Even though this is the twenty-first century and everyone has phones that are capable of containing photos, she still prints them out, so when she shows them to her regulars, they get to hold it in their hands. Alyssa is an old soul, she even has vinyls playing on a record player behind the counter instead of playing the radio through the overhead speakers. I absolutely love it. I take the photo and look down at Emery, their daughter. I start my walk towards the highlighters while staring at her chubby cheeks and pigtails while she eats ice cream. “God she seems so big. I feel like you were just pregnant.” I say over my shoulder towards the counter while in front of the selection of highlighters. No one else is here this late, so we continue our conversation by yelling over the store. “You’re telling me. My body hasn’t recovered yet. I still pee every time I laugh.” Alyssa returns. That sends me into a fit of giggles while I’m reaching for my regular pack of highlighters. “I’m serious.” she says in a high pitched voice “Vanessa has been obsessed with dad jokes lately. I’ve been peeing my pants a lot.” She continues. That makes my fit of giggles turn into full on laughter. Laughing so hard I have to lean over and clutch my stomach to keep from falling on the ground. When I catch my breath I look over at her and wipe a tear. “The fact that you laugh that hard at dad jokes is embarrassing.” I still haven't completely stopped laughing so I choked the words out between breaths. “It’s not the jokes, it's her laughing at her own jokes for like five whole minutes every time. The jokes are so bad, not even Emery laughs.” That makes the smile on my face turn into laughter again. I’m stuck laughing to myself, envisioning it and repeating her sentence back to myself in a high pitched and out of breath voice. Once I finally regain the ability to breathe, I walk towards the counter again. “You’re kidding. She does not.” I say incredulously while setting the highlighters and picture on the counter. “Oh but she does. I’ll have to film it and show it to you next time you come in.” She scans the highlighters and takes my cash. I give her exact change as always. I do however stuff a 20 in the tip jar. She sees it and tries to hand it back to me but I start running out the door faster than she can get out from behind the counter. “Oops sorry, I’ve got a very important call from my boss. Gotta go.” I yell over my shoulder as I round the corner out of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk. I’m still giggling to myself a bit when I hear “It’s like 11 o’clock you lair.” My apartment is down the street so I just walk. There is no point in spending money on a taxi when my feet can hurt just a little bit more and I can enjoy the sky. I always liked night better than day too. Being left alone but knowing someone is still there with you. Sleeping in separate rooms, but if you need them you could call them and they’ll come. Even the dark is comforting, the stars in the sky, all the animals outside, asleep. It’s not quite the same here though. Even the night kind of feels like day. It’s like no one sleeps in LA. When I get upstairs I’m met with a cold, dark condo. The smell of the candle I lit last night and coffee I made this morning still linger in the air. I drop my bag on the coffee table in front of my couch and collapse onto the deep green fabric. I sit and stare at my ceiling for a while. I have a ceiling medallion surrounding the ceiling light so I follow the pattern with my eyes for a while. I don't know how long I lay there thinking about home, but I do know that home isn’t really a place for me. I know it’s like that for some people, and for them it's a person, a loved one of some kind. For me though, it’s a feeling. Comfort I think, I don’t get to feel it often so I think of the few times I do have it. That is home for me. My only interruption is from the bubbling of my stomach, reminding me I haven't eaten since lunch. I haul myself up, slip off my heels, take off my coat and throw them both at a cream colored armchair. I have a thing for cream furniture. I grab my phone out of my bag and hit play on an audio book I’ve been listening to. I couldn’t tell you the characters names or what the book is even about but I prefer hearing people talking than the silence of my empty condo. I reach into the freezer and grab a frozen dinner, I was never really taught to cook. The best I can do is rice and maybe some cookies if I devote my entire day to it. After pouring a glass of unsweetened tea I hear the beep of my microwave telling me my meal for the night is ready. I just stand and eat at the counter, I can't be bothered to move to the dining table I have. It’s big enough for 6, but there is normally only 1 sitting at it. Once I’m done with my mediocre food, I put on a robe and a face mask and watch one of my favorite movies. I turn all the lights off and sit in the dark like I used to do when I was a teenager. Only this time I have wine. I sit and stare at Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey fall madly in love with each other, surrounded by friends and family and coworkers. I check my phone again. It’s 1:47, my screen saver is telling me it gets better so I should smile, I still get double stars at Starbucks, but nothing new. This is my life. Every day of it.