Damned Keys.

Feet aching,
Back aching,
Head aching.

You're bellyaching, child. Put a stop to it.

I plunge an arm into my cavernous shoulder bag as I traipse down the narrow alley.

Right. Left. Right. Left. Don't stop. Nearly there. Never soon enough.

The sensored lights of wary garage doors flare suspiciously as I pass. Aiding and abetting? Hardly. They aren't much help.

I am desperate. The gnarled red oak twists skyward beside me, its buried roots dislodging quaintly shaped pavers that I pass every evening. I am nearly home.

I dig deeper.

Clasping the rust-stained rail, I ease myself down the steep cement stairs. The door looms out of the darkness as I lurch closer and closer.

I sigh loudly, fingers overturning the contents of my bag:

Coins of every shape and size clambouring into my palms. But never when I need them.
The knobbly edges of my soft [empty] wallet.
A stray pen cap. Ink, ink, ink on my hands.

It's no good. I must stop. I hate stopping.

I drop to my knees, and cry out as the gravel skins them mercilessly. Take care, child, take care.

Grasping the edges of the worn leather, I overturn my bag, and shake it angrily. Bits and bobs spill everywhere, clinking and clattering without a thought for the neighbours.

I groan, and chase shrapnel as it trickles along the landing and down another flight of stairs, all the while throwing furtive glances over my shoulder. Is that a shadow I spy?

Wealth restored, I return to the pile. I am annoyed, and it shows. The old grey cat from the terrace next doors sits well back tonight, surveying me, eyes alight with mockery. She knows to come a callin' only of the morning, when I am amiable.

But I spare no thought for her as I sift relentlessly: a miner with her goldpan, working her claim.

What have we here? A hairbrush. A mirror. A bottle of water. A fork? Bringing work home with you again, girl?

They aren't here.

Something glints in the moonlight. Thank God for the moon. I smile and catch hold of the cool silver rectangle lodged beneath a tangled web of wiring. Note to self - need new headphones

They are here.

I exhale. I inhale.

I breathe.

I sweep the things atop my staircase back into the leather purse. I stand.

And with a smile, I unlock the door. I smile at the cat.

Everything is going to be alright m'dear.

Damned keys.