As I staggered across the dusty patch that served as a parking lot years later, I remembered why I had deja vu…

The light came in through the window hard that morning, bouncing off every surface and aching my eyes before I opened them.

What I needed to do was get dressed.

I hadn’t worn a pair of heels for weeks because we were moving again, and on average I stayed on my feet for 18 hours a day.  That’s why I lost my job; not because I wore flats to work, but because we were moving (again).

Twice I’d skipped out early to meet Dinah at the storage space; only twice.  It turns out skipping out twice counts against you thrice when your boss hates your guts.

Another job was on offer; a better job, so I had to find my job interview clothes.  They were in box somewhere…And very wrinkled.

Dinah and I sat on the floor eating toaster waffles and alternately chugging the real maple syrup her cousin from Vermont sent us and a bottle of Dickel.

“It’s Taco Night,” Dinah said.

“I need shoes for this interview.  My suit I can pick up at the cleaners,  but I need shoes.”

“We need to talk to Debbie,” Dinah said, lighting a cigarette and a joint simultaneously and exhaling.  “Debbie got shoes,” she said between gasps.

“There’s a price on those shoes,” I said.