Alright Already. Where's the ACTION?

After a sleep deep and dreamless, Drayson woke and panicked for the few moments it took her mind to catch up with the unfamiliar surroundings. The adrenalin surge subsided, leaving behind a warm feeling in her joints, a sensation far better than the achy stiffness after the last night spent camping out.

Still the four walls pressed in on her. And her stomach rumbled fiercely. She worked a comb through the tangle of her hair and put on a fresh pair of jeans, a red tank top, and her leather boots. Lastly she slid into her denim jacket and popped her wallet into the inside pocket.

She was just about to swing a leg over the seat of the bike when she caught sight of a familiar Waffle House sign down the road a few blocks. The walk would be nice. And cheap. She could grab a paper, and have breakfast, even though it was 1:36 in the afternoon. What more could a girl ask for. "All the comforts of home" ran through her head, but she dismissed the random thought. This was far more comfortable than home.

The restaurant--small and dated--was empty except for one man who was spread out in a booth reading, typing on a laptop, and reading some more. She wondered how many tips he had shelled out for such a privilege, but then again, maybe one warm body inside the place bettered the odds of hunger setting in and an eventual order. He was a kind man; she could tell by the way he looked up an smiled at her before he returned to whatever it is that seemed to occupy every fiber of his being.

Drayson took a booth also, where she could spread out the paper to read. A 50-something waitress who looked like she needed the afternoon shift to hurry up took Drayson's order and stored it in her head, which Drayson found a bit arrogant. She wanted to change the order a couple times just to see if she wound up with the right food. But her stomach rumbled again on cue and she decided to leave well enough alone in hopes that the food would arrive sooner rather than later.

The paper though, was like reading Greek. Nothing made a whole lot of sense because she had no context in which to fit these details. The area seemed to be made up of several tiny satellite towns, all with their own concerns, battles and heroes. National news occupied a couple pages in the back, but by the time Drayson got there, her pecan waffles and bacon had arrived. She had the waffle half gone before she forced herself to slow down and taste it properly.

Even so, Drayson was finished and ready to move on in a matter of minutes. It was too hard to sit still and make herself read. She offered to pay for the newspaper but Ms. Memory said part of it was missing, so just take it. Drayson walked back to the room with every intention of studying it and the phone book to see exactly where she was--get a better lay of the land. The housekeeper had not yet shown up, so she hung the do-not-disturb sign on the door handle then threw herself on the bed to enjoy the quiet contentment of her stomach for a few moments. This time she took in the soft mint green of the walls and the large canvas of clouds hanging beside the bed.

A greenroom.

A respite from the bright lights of a stage that she knew she had to return to. She was safe here for the time being. Unhurried, un-commanded. Relaxed. Without fully realizing she'd decided to do it, she let sleep fold over her and carry her away on the clouds.

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Today's word: greenroom