the apartment

It went without saying. It was like saying she wanted to find happiness or enlightenment. Or like saying she wanted to live in that top floor Apartment with the roof of skylights at the triangular corner where Division Street meets Canal Street. Of course, who wouldn't? She had admired It from afar, from as close as she could get, on the sidewalk below, always peering into those plentiful windows facing Ludlow Street.
Perhaps not everyone would want that Apartment, thought Chloe. Though it took up the entire top floor, it was small, inside an edifice with a crumbling facade and a forever-shuttered storefront on the bottom. But that was what made it special. So unusual, so mysterious, so quiet, so thoughtful, so perfect. Whenever she walked within sight of the red triangular building, even from Essex Street, The Apartment sang to her, to the world. She imagined herself living there, knowing precisely where she would put her piano (by the East-facing window). She imagined sleeping there, with the peaceful sunlight wrapping its arms around her in late afternoon slumber. She thought of all the happiness that apartment could have shown her, or perhaps could still show her.
But then all of sudden, she hated The Apartment's guts. How dare it stand there, appearing at least two days a week, tall and aloof and handsome. Singing songs and living its own exciting life. Offering glimpses through its windows, tales of happiness and of the young love for which she longed, tales being lived by another who was not her and who would never be her.

misspellings

Clicking with her mouse on "Inbox (1)," Chloe discovered she had received an Email from her friend Tori. Nestled in among several paragraphs detailing the current state of affairs in Tori's life, in the paragraph recapping her conversation with her delinquent boyfriend, a particular phrase stood out: "your lacking common cents." Spelled just like that.
Now, Chloe loved her friend Tori dearly, but this slight misstep (not one, but two misspellings in the same phrase!) on Tori's part, unbeknownst to her, had large ramifications for Chloe.
You see, Chloe possesses a severe aversion to people who cannot spell, or rather, who don't spell. Was it laziness? Ignorance? Spite? A cruel joke? At any rate, Chloe is capable of becoming repulsed by even the slightest of absent apostrophes. First she cringes, then shudders, then re-reads the offense over again to be sure her dear friend didn't surely mean something else. But always, upon further examination, her fears are confirmed.
At this point, Chloe couldn't bear to read one more word of Tori's Email. It was tainted. Chloe signed out of her her Email account and didn't see her friend Tori for 4 1/2 weeks after that.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homophone

http://www.yourdictionary.com/library/misspelled.html

a wind of change

Like a wind that blows suddenly from a new direction, gently yet with great confidence, she felt a change sweep over her, through her. Chloe had overslept that morning, waking from a deep slumber just a few hours ago, with the sun already high in the sky and the people already having begun their days, in an event highly uncharacteristic of her usual early morning routine. And perhaps that was just it, she thought; the reason for the change, that is. Though she generally found much comfort in routine, it being a sure, dependable friend in life, she had begun to realize that her good friend might well be a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Today, having broken free from ritual, she felt suddenly clear-headed. Her energy was endless and her appetite for food minimal. In the bright, cool sun of her lunch hour, life itself felt suddenly different. Perhaps it was just for today. Or perhaps the new wind will continue to blow.

bicycle stories

On her bicycle, she felt free. Even if it wasn't a cool bicycle. Metallic blue, most likely from the 1980s, it said "Ross Professional" on it. It wasn't even a girls' bike. At any rate, it was her size and she got it at the Chelsea flea market for a fair price. So it didn't matter.
Since acquiring her new bike, she had gotten used to specific bumps in familiar roads, on her way to school, on her way to work. The pot hole at Bowery and Broome, the bump on the East River just to the south of the pedestrian crossing to Grand Street. She knew these well, for very good reasons, but did not always remember them well, which caused for spontaneous surprise, at times.
Today, in the grey of the April early evening, she rode on, having no place to go. She came across that same hungry squirrel down by the housing projects on Cherry Street. He almost had a death wish, the way he ran in front of her wheels. And then, as she turned onto Jackson Street, a dead one in the middle of the street, a dead squirrel, that is. And then, as she passed slowly, her legs tiring, she realized it was not a dead squirrel but instead a fake fur snap-off portion of someone's (now fur-less) jacket.

processed thoughts

It suddenly occurred to Chloe that now was the time. Sitting across from him, elbows propped up on the greasy aluminum table, she bit into her giant cheeseburger. Gazing into his eyes, chewing a giant wad of highly processed white un-bread, highly processed cheese, and juicy beef (hopefully not also highly processed), she processed her own momentary thoughts, though not highly. Instead she acted on impulse. Here goes nothing. And then, she broke up with him, while eating a giant cheeseburger.

of senses lost

On her way home, Chloe's head was still swimming with all the thoughts and ideas that had crossed her mind that day in class. Not that color, needs a cleaner typeface, nice photograph, can you make the secondary element just a hair bigger? All the arguing and going back and forth between students and teachers had sent her mind racing like a high speed Cuisinart, and all these thoughts in her head were starting to really become quite a mush. She was starting to wonder whether she was quite crazy afterall.
Turning the corner with her usual downward gaze onto West 23rd Street, then noticing a stick moving slowly back and forth along sidewalk in front of her, coming towards her, she moved out of the way to let a blind woman pass. It was curious that what ailed her today was too much viewing, too many images. Curious that what ailed her today was, in fact, what she had taken for granted.