She sat in the darkness with her back to the window, eyes closed, listening to the sound of the street outside. Silhouetted against the yellow light of the street lights, her hair a bit frizzled around the edges, it looked like she had a wierd halo.

In her lap laid the result of todays activities, half a quilt, still unfinished with thread and needle hanging of the side a few inches above the old cracked wooden floor. Her hands rested on top of the quilt, her head turned slightly to the side.

He stood a long time watching her drifting off into sleep. He continually marvelled at her ability to sleep sitting in that rockingchair. It felt completely uncomfortable to him and sleeping sitting up had never been an option.

When he was sure that she was asleep, he went over and picked her up out of her favourite place in the apartment and carried her into the neighbouring bedroom. He knew that this movement would not wake her from her sleep. This soon after drifting off, her sleep would be deep and hard to break. He placed her gently in their bed, on her side, the covers were already drawn. He put the cover over her feet, knowing how she hated cold feet and then laid down beside her on his side of the bed, staring into the ceiling.

The lights were off in the whole apartment and there was no reason for him to get out of bed, but he could not sleep. He did not feel like turning on the bedside lamp, however, so he just stared into the cieling, studying the strange map that the light from outside had drawn on it.

He tried not to think about their situation but it was hard. They were not hard pressed for money, he had enough to last them a long time, and they were not spending much. This place was cheap and they never went out to eat. He was more concerned about neither him or her having any job. There was self asteem in a job and his job had been one of status in this world.

She too had been of some stature before she was deemed to old for the business. She had been on the cover of some smaller fashion magazines a few times and then of course she had been caught completely off guard by a sudden shift in what was fashionable and her services were no longer needed. Her time had run out and so had most of her money. Living the high life had cost her. When they had met, she was on the verge of being tossed out into the street.

Sometimes he imagined that the only reason she was staying with him was because of some misplaced sense of duty toward him for rescuing her from that awkward situation where she could have been sentenced, in a very real way, to a life on the street.

In truth she had rescued him. He had tired of his life as a plastic surgeon and had not even realised it. He was spiralling down in a tight wirl of self loathing and depression. Feeling bad because his work felt meaningless and hating his life for it. She had given him the courage to stop.

He still met with his old collegues every now and then and they all asked him when he was coming back to the business. More than one of them had offered him a job on their private clinics, but he was not having any of it. That part of his life was over now. He wanted to think. There had to be a better way of life.

He looked to his left over the sleeping figure at his side and out the window, blinds down but not drawn. On the window sill stood a single pot. A plastic tree that somehow symbolized the city outside. Fake.