Had she gone into work today she would be sifting through data, allocating crude information into organized channels, expanding and contracting spreadsheets as each bit matriculated through the WNIS system. She toils in information, selecting then transforming an area of bitmap into a new improved graph of data. When she is finished she has created something perfect, but it’s perfection expires with the next onslaught of details. On hot nights she sits up on her roof, drink in hand, and watches the tiny dots of headlights trace paths along the East River Drive. The sky in the late evening has a ochre hue that deepens into an amber stain as the night goes on. Someone once told her these beautiful sunsets were due to pollution. Above everything she can appreciative the strata of the city, letting her eyes follow how every corner fits into the next. She feels calm above so many tiny particles, methodically forging new paths, even deep into the night.
