just in time

As usual, Nancy keeps me in late. Her blazer still shows no sign of creasing, and every strand of her hair is glued in place. My ponytail is coming undone and my calves are aching from standing, manning the booth for the past eight hours. She has her back straight, legs still full of energy. She bounces about like a hyperactive five-year-old, shooting orders at us just before we leave our dungeon (i.e. workplace). 

Nancy is my boss. The worst boss I've ever worked under. She is a dictator; someone who gives no hoots about our personal lives. She likes making us work overtime, whether we like it or not. I, for one, am rushing to get home. I beg her with my soul and she finally lets me go.

I leap through the automatic doors, leaving the air-conditioned hall. Exhaust fumes from the usual five o'clock traffic hit my face and I give a little cough. Complaining with each step in my pumps, I run toward my car. I jump into my battered Toyota, shove the key into the ignition and rev it up. Driving home at ninety kilometers per hour, I finally reach my home-near-the-beach.

Shrugging off my blazer and kicking my pumps away, I lunge toward the window, expecting my usual scene. I rip the curtains apart, and there I see it. 

Just in time for the sunset.