Elaine had been waiting for her husband to return from work since 5:00 in the afternoon. It was getting dark and the chicken was rotting in the oven. Even the cat seemed restless, Elaine thought, though this could not possibly be true. Everything was at rest, and clean, and she sat still in her seat. Elaine, the house, felt a rush of air in her belly, the cavernous room made of windows. She had opened a window to her internal organs one day and it got stuck like that. It didn't feel like much, being a hopelessly drafty room, listless, dark; with windows wide open, but blinds (letting in every gust of wind) that were not so welcoming to light. It never felt quite like inside, nor like 'outside', and people had to repeat themselves quite often because she found it very hard to understand things over the wind, and their voices could easily go in one window and out the other in a turn of the breeze.