He tended to avoid mirrors. They reminded him of his reliably average looks, stubby graying beard and growing gut, complimenting the deepening crow’s feet decorating his muddy eyes. The avoidance was somewhat unintentional, perhaps a subconscious byproduct of a middle age stupor.

The water he'd put on for coffee that morning boiled over onto his powdered eggs. He turned it off and left the eggs there, resolving to clean when he returned home. They were a worthy addition to his collection of various uncleaned pots, plates, and pans, steadily growing next to a rusted sink. The accumulation was a common occurrence. He’d eventually clean, when mice or bugs showed up, and after he’d promise himself it wouldn't happen again; until the inevitable reared its ugly head.

Dave's was closer to the train but Maria's had stronger coffee, and the chatty checkout girls unfailingly low cut tops made amends for the steadfast long lines. “And how’ve you been, haven't seen you in a few” she’d often say, in a somewhat impersonal, but nevertheless appreciated manner. “Oh you know -- I'm ok, I'm good”

he’d mutter with a shake of the head. She’d pop up in his head sometimes, as he was falling asleep, not because she was beautiful: she wasn't, just young, and he liked her peppy manner and unwavering recognition of regulars.

       Leaning on a green column, a month-old ‘wet paint’ sign taped against it, he waited for the next Q. He ate his bagel quickly, mildly embarrassed by the crinkling aluminum and eggy smell wafting from the brown paper bag.

He had slept few hours that night and felt the heaviness of his arms and eyelids leaning on the subway door before they opened to let a young mother, baby in arm, through. They locked eyes briefly before he sat in the newly emptied seat she’d made of start for. He did hesitate for a moment, but resolved he didn't have the energy that particular morning to be a good guy. He closed his eyes in emphasis of his fatigue and to ease the heaviness.

Off-white and dimly lit, the less than modest office he spent a chunk of his life twiddling his thumbs in sat midway up a 12-floor building. Wild tales of the dull and mundane unfolded in its gray halls, where rows of the middle-aged stared into blue light. He downed the last of his now cold coffee, and cracked his neck in preparation for monotony.

He’d gotten to work late so resolved - by order of his boss, to stay an extra hour that night and was among the few lingerers around the office. With a heavy-lidded yawn he packed his bag, stretched briefly, stood and flicked off the light. But when he turned to leave, his bag across his chest, it flickered back on. He furrowed his brow and proceeded to turn it off, on, then off again, pausing to be sure it would remain that way. Puzzled but not unnerved, he left the building.

It was a two block walk to the subway down a semi-busy street in midtown, but the expected roar of traffic and chatter that echoed from tall building to tall building was drowned by the harsh click of high heels on pavement. It wasn't an unfamiliar city sound, but seemed to eat away all other noise with the sharpness of a razor blade. It rang, sonorous, in his ears and bounced about his head. They had started slow and distant but now clanged, stentorian in his skull. He stopped to plug his ears but found this did him no good, it seemed the sound came from within him, rather than around. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to turn around, searching for the source. His bloodshot eyes fell upon the tall and graceful figure of a woman draped in white cloth. Her hair fell in Botticelli-esque silken waves, long and the color of honey, her lips coral and bow-shaped, curved in a slight smile that softly dimpled her dawn-colored cheeks. A lustful yearning washed over him that halted the pounding in his head. His hungry eyes traveled down her body, half out of desire and half fear, to see if she was the bearer of the high heeled shoes. None were found, no shoes -- nor feet, her calves bent backward into the heel of a bird that then narrowed and split into four long talons, like that of a raven or crow. She laughed as his alarm drowned out his lust, a lilting laugh that shook her body but failed to reach her seafoam eyes. They were stoney eyes, he found as he stared paralyzed into them, lined with thick lashes and filled with a taunting pity that unnerved him to no end.

“Sas tromázo,” her voice rang smooth and playful, the unfamiliar words rolling over her tongue with ease and mocking. “I scare you”.  She laughed her lilting laugh and raised her arms high above her head. They began to shimmer and radiate a celestial glow. She closed her cyan eyes and started to breathe rhythmically, her chest rising and falling, until her arms grew and morphed into large feathered wings pulsing in the night’s cool winds. She flew then, up and out, her white robes cascading behind her.

He lay panting on the wet ground, not remembering when he had fallen. Something warm trickled from his ear and he raised his fingers to find it blood. Looking over, he found the contents of his bag sprawled out on the street, half his morning bagel soggy in mystery liquid of city sidewalks. He scrambled to put it away and stood up too fast, suddenly overwhelmed with the image of a woman laughing. She was beautiful, tall, and vaguely familiar, but as the grainy static dissipated, he felt her picture slip quietly from him.