The night was cold, particularly when the drafty apartment blew against the sweat that had broken out on Robert's back. It was cold enough to prohibit him from sleeping that night. So cold that he decided to just forget about sleeping; it was a Saturday and he didn't need to worry about going to work the following morning. Robert sat up, peeled the damp shirt from his back and threw it in the corner with his other dirty clothes, and got up to make himself some coffee. Robert Whittlesey was growing fonder of coffee; in fact, most of his previous habits had changed. His eating habits changed; he began working out again, which he hadn't done since college; he stopped seeing his mother's face as much. That last one was what had bothered him the most in his past. He had been seeing his mothers face for the last 15 years. It wasn't always blatant. It wasn't always subtle. His mother showed up in shadows, in the fog of the mornings, in the smog of the afternoons. Robert knew it was his mother's ghost. She wasn't haunting him, more like just checking in. Making sure her only son was alive and well.

Robert let out a big sigh as he eased into the wooden chair in the kitchen. He brought the cup of coffee to his lips and took a sip. It was strong and bitter: exactly how he liked it. He leaned back in his chair and stared out of the window. He simply sat there for a while, taking intermittent sips from his coffee all night. The night also seemed much shorter than most; and before Robert knew, it was time to get up and go to work.

Robert got up out of his chair and set about getting ready for work. He changed his clothes, made breakfast, and put his work related belongings in his suit case, and glanced at his watch to check the time before stepping out the door... not quite so deliberately.