Juice at Night

A door closes in the middle of the night, closes with a heavy clunk. The sound of bulky metal pierces the nocturnal silence. I wonder how many people have heard it. Perhaps I'm the only one. I doubt it, but it's possible. This block grows quiet after ten, even though I know that most of those apartments are filled with people, their souls lost in this forlorn city. 

I look in my hand and find a bottle of orange juice. You know how you sometimes forget the taste of something you know very well? I take a sip and can't believe how good it tastes. I look at the bottle and try to remember the last time I had some. Then I remember that I did that the last time, too. There's something about orange juice. Sometimes I forget that it exists. 

Today was my last day at work. They asked me to come in one more time. It sounds like I got fired after many years of loyalty, when it was actually not much longer than a month. And I didn't get fired. I quit. I made a decision, the decision to remember my priorities. Time is a valuable part of finding one's focus. Often I forget, but more often than not there's some juice in the fridge.