At The Computer Table.

Scattered papers and books mark an ensemble of work. It is where the nib of her red pen critters in a haphazard fashion.

She takes a bite. And then another. Palatables pleasing to the palate play an occasional role in skirting across.

Piled in a corner are boxes of petty cash, handy for a delivery or two, should it be rendered.

Kaleidoscopic hues rim several pretty metal boxes, of which nail glazes and such march in single file.

A refrain streams. It clamours for her attention. She gives it a crooked smile and then passes it by.

Clackety-clack-clackety-clack - It needs no introduction. A world of make-believe traipses at her fingertips. It is, but, a nightly routine. A creature of comfort, if you'd deem.

The carousel does its bidding. Up and down. Down and up. Up and down and up and down again.

Throwing her head back in convulsive laughter, she stops short and a trickle falls, unbroken.