Last night I had the most bizarre dream, something I could have done without under my current situation of starting a new life. It was horrible. There were birds, beautiful birds that I loved very dearly that sang songs every day. There was a tank below their perch filled with two small alligators swimming in murky waters. One by one the birds seem to just dive or fall into the water. I could hear their cries for help as they thrashed around under constant threat of the rows of sharp teeth coming for them.

I was crying. Many times I reach in the dark waters, fully aware of its dangers and pull the bird out. My efforts were in vain, for every bird I saved more just jumped into the water to be taken by the jaws of death until the waters turned red with blood. Looking at my hands to see I too have been attacked by the vicious reptiles, yet I felt no pain.

I woke up feeling more tired than I did the day prior, another normal that I've learned to deal with in life. I found myself sitting on the balcony of my new and humble home. A small discovery I just noticed recently. Perfect for two people or a cozy gathering to paint a masterpiece. I took to the ocean as my inspiration for the day and avoided any use of red after the disturbing dream I had. My skills, which my father says I do not have, break a wide range of techniques in my art. I prefer abstract above all else, to perfect within imperfections.

Releasing a deep sigh I leaned back to look at what I've accomplished only to have Evelyn three inches away from my face peering over my shoulder.

"Oh dear God," I gasped as I threw my hand against my chest. "How long have you been standing there."

"About twelve minutes," Her voice as monotone as ever. "So you're an artist."

"I'd like to think so, yeah."

Evelyn observed my work. The more her eyes lingered on the stormy colors the more I grew curious about what she thought about it.

"It's a landscape of San Francisco Bay...in my way."

"You use a lot of blues, greys, and purples for the ocean...and you bridge is golden."

"Yeah," I thought about my dream and how horrible it left me. "I wasn't feeling red and warmth today."

Evelyn nodded in an understanding gesture. "It should go in the living room."

An unusual sense of joy filled my heart for a brief moment. No one has ever asked me to display my work in our home before, not even my parents. When I was little I did receive the privilege of the refrigerator, like any child. As I grew older and my skills enhanced the praise turned into a bore pat on the head and a "that's nice dear" without any real eye contact. Which eventually turned into my father strictly ordering me to keep them in my room and that it clashed with his lifestyle.

The 18×14 canvas found its place on the kitchen wall with my name written with a rose gold metallic paint pen in the lower corner. The self-Confidence was beginning to beam from me, thinking of what it would be like if my paintings were hung on the walls of other homes in New York.

Turning around once again I jumped when I realized Evelyn was still standing so very close. My Wicca friend never really came out of her room since I had moved in and moved with footsteps like Dracula, I was still adjusting to her ever-looming presence.

"So, my friends are back from their trip. I'm going to visit them at the Coffee Bean in an hour." I began nervously, "While were chatting it up and having our first conversation. I keep thinking to myself when she ever going to go outside maybe to work, the store...or a coven meeting."

"I go on the other side of that door." Evelyn pointed across the room.

"Oh yeah, easy to find you behind that door all the time here..." I agreed with her and I stared down the hallway. "...that's the closet, but have you ever thought about going out that door... you know, outside of our gate. Into the public."

"Too many toxic attributes," Evelyn shook her head. "I'll stick to that door instead."

"You'll stick to the closet." I nodded, knowing this was the most awkward failed conversation yet. "Already then."

Evelyn turned to me and walked closer with that same piercing gaze. I didn't realize I was slowly backing up until I hit the kitchen counters behind me. Suddenly she reached out and pet me like an animal from my hair to my shoulder. Her touch gave me shivers and I jumped like she was going to choke me with the force or something.

"I like you," she said without a single smile. "We are friends now."

"Oh, I certainly hope so," I replied, a little creeped out.

"I'm going to go back to my room now."

I watched as she headed down the hallway with silent footsteps. I don't think I started breathing again until the heard her bedroom door shut.

"Good talk."

The coffee bean was buzzing that afternoon, as it usually did. Mostly from people hitting their lunch hour and rushing to get a quick treat and a double espresso to finish off their work shift with an extra kick of caffeine. It would be pumpkin spice season in less than a month, But until that time I would continue to settle with my all-time sweet caramel coffee top with extra whipped cream.

Ignoring the chatter of customers coming and going, I found myself standing in front of the Coffee Bean community board looking for another job. Perhaps I could get lucky with something amazing. Unfortunately, everything posted was small stuff, temporary jobs but nothing long term. Dog walker, replanting flowers, babysitting, and so on. Still, I took names and wrote down numbers. Any form of income will work for now, until I can find something better.

Two fingers poked me in my ribs, hitting that special spot and causing me to yell. Spinning around the beautiful, raven hair Asian was grinning ear to ear.

"Keiko!" I gasped, "You brat!"

"I missed you!" she squealed and threw her arms around my next, smashing my face into her boobs. "How long has it been?"

"Four months," I mumbled against her shirt. "How was Japan?"

"Beautiful as ever, but what about you? How has life been treating you."

I didn't want to answer her, it would be such a sour note to hit. Keiko was a sensitive one who wore her heart on her sleeve. She had a wild and free spirit and so in love with her culture. Long hair that went down to her ass, dark onyx eyes, and beautiful flawless skin. She has been asked to model countless times and I thought she would be perfect for the runway, but she's not one for fame. Plus she hates the strict disrespectful standards of beauty, a decision I support fully.

Like my moment with Beckett, I told her everything that had happened these past few weeks. I could tell from the beginning that I had her hooked. Keiko hadn't moved for long moments, still holding her hot tea that she never drank. Looking into her eyes it looked like she was watching a sad romance film and on the verge of tears.

"I shouldn't have told you this."

Without a word, Keiko reached over the table and embraced me again. Hello again boobs, I knew them well. When Keiko finally released me and slumped back down in her seat and began to dig through her purse. It was a deep blue shoulder bag with a blue morph butterfly in the corner. Adding a unique fantasy touch, a skeleton key was embedded in the spine of the butterfly. I made that for her at my third craft fair competition.

"I can't believe you still have that old thing." I smiled. "I'm surprised it hasn't fallen apart by now."

"It's my favorite purse."

"You only have fifty favorite purses."

"Hey," She perked up, pulling out her wallet, "Everyone has their obsession, Jasmine has a collection of water bottles, you with your paint, and Becky with... coffee beans."

"Coffee beans?" I laughed.

"He goes home smelling like muffins and has coffee beans in his pockets that get lost in the washer."

Pulling a purple and teal business card from her pocket, Keiko handed it to me with a bright smile. "Here. This is my uncle's card, tell him I sent you and you'll get an interview for sure."

"The... Cubicle Ninja?" I read from the card.

"It's an artistry magazine corporation," Keiko explained. "It's a small local place, but they cover personal blogs and articles about everything here in San Francisco."

"I'm not much of a blogger." I attempted. "What would I even write about business-wise."

Keiko, "Write about your journey as a painter, gain a fan base and answer any and every ad my uncle hands to you. That's all there is to it."

"Thank you, Kei, I'll give him a call."

Two weeks of small handy jobs and my best friends come home from Japan with a suitable, hopefully, long term job. As much as I hated all these intense situations, they all seemed to have positive outcomes.

As sweet Keiko hashimoto back and  to the rescue. Hope you enjoyed this chapter of Cora's every so spinning lifestyle.

Below is an image of her purse, I had it saved for myself and can actually be purchased off ETSY. I am in love with it but there is no way in hell I'm paying $215 dollars for that thing.