Sighing and shaking your head you begin to wonder where your car keys floated off to. They have a mind of their own sometimes it seems. Checking in the kitchen drawers you find nothing. You're actually surprised when you find nothing because there had previously been silverware in there. Oh well you shrug, and wander to the fridge, checking inside for your car keys.
Opening it to find your car keys aren't in there either, you realize your fridge is also empty. You could have sworn you bought groceries, but you suppose it's not too big of a deal, considering there will be fancy little snacks at the party anyways.
And thus you head to the bathroom, poking your head in to see your tub overflowing with water, a bubble bath drawn, the bubbles arranging themselves to form the words "Just relax babe" on the surface of the sudsy water finding nothing but sadness, the steam from your shower still clinging to the air. Shrugging, you assume your keys aren't here either. Leaning against the wall in between your bedroom and the bathroom, your kitchen is sprawled in front of you like an architects bad dream. You mutter and begin to think about how late you're going to be, and start talking to yourself in an effort to compartmentalize and figure out where your damn keys are. "Where are my keys?" You wonder aloud, hoping that this inane wondering would prompt your brain into finding the object of your desires.
However it doesn't and instead you're just left staring directly in front of you at the cat toy left on your countertop. Strange, you don't remember having a cat. Actually, you know for certain that you don't have a cat. However after a moment of deliberation you do remember your neighbor has a cat. Grabbing your coat, you open your window and take a breath, that silent switch in your mind telling you it's time to get serious. As you slip outside your window, the sounds of the city and the wind whistling past are music to your ears, a low tone sound of applause to the brevity and tenacity of every action of yours. Dropping to window below, and grabbing the ledge instinctively you pull yourself up slowly with considerable effort. It's left open so slipping inside again is easy, and you quickly scan the dark apartment for signs of life. You can't see anything at first, but for a moment you feel like you have eyes on you. With this kind of life you can normally tell when someone is looking at you, like your brain has a sonar for it.
