After rolling over and flipping her pillow for the fourth time, Sara gave it up as a bad job and got out of bed. She had the feeling that important life was happening without her. Spending wakeful hours in bed only made her retread the same worn paths to frustration, so she wrapped herself in her comforter and went to her window.
It was unlikely that there would be any activity out on her street. Sara lived in a quiet suburb, and the sidewalks were rolled up by 9:00 pm, but she couldn't shake that feeling that there was some spark of life just outside her sphere. Her dresser sat under the window, and if she pushed it back slightly, she could sit, her feet on the baseboard heat, and lean her elbows on the windowsill to look outside. Despite the cold November night air, she cranked open one casement window and arranged her comforter over her head. The baseboard heat rose and filled her cocoon while the night chilled her nose and cheeks.
The street was predictably dark and no lights on in the three houses she could see; it was, after all, after two in the morning. Sara sat and dreamed with her eyes open of adventure.
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