Claire lost the bounce in her step as she rounded the corner to her apartment. She woke up that morning with the intention of giving her two weeks' notice at the DMV. By the time she got into position behind the counter, she'd scrapped the plan. Claire didn't have another job lined up, but figured she could survive for a couple months while she went on the hunt. She'd been a barista before and, to her best recollection, people still drank coffee. Claire didn't mind putting up with steam, and noise, and mountains of grounds as an interim sort of situation. But then this is where Claire had a heart-to-heart with herself during the two-transfer bus commute. She wasn't going to find a job that paid as well as where she was at. Claire knew after a few weeks working at The Busy Bean, she'd lose interest in looking for a more suitable means of employment. Then she would fall behind on the bills. Claire's musings were not what-if scenarios. She'd been down that road and back again. Patterns were so awfully hard to break, and fantasies were as easily collapsible as a take-out carton. As Claire approached her building, she decided she really liked having a roof, and a bathtub, and a kitchenette. Claire liked her neighborhood, too. She was just born a restless soul, and needed a cold dose of reality on a fairly regular basis. It sure didn't help when she let her imagination run wild and thought the stupid message stuck to her foot was some kind of cosmic permission slip to quit her job. As soon as she got inside her cozy abode, Claire was going to set a match to that dangerous sticky note.