Listening to no one. Hearing nothing. Not a sound, nor a voice.

She speaks in soliloquy; an ongoing monologue. Talking to herself about loves lost, fools she danced with, journeys never taken.

A garbage truck rolls by at five in the morning. Men working loudly. Disregarding the hour. Kitchen lights in windows shine. Couples drink coffee. Lonely people drinking whiskey. Sounds of the city go by.

And she talks and talks and talks. But still, he does not hear. Does not listen. Fumbling his slippers with his bare feet. Watching a mouse scamper across the floor.

Her voice grows louder. A crescendo peaks.

Quietly, they start their day.