The flower pot on the patio of her apartment was filled with ashes and cigarette butts. She had three dishes, with the thought that simplicity would help her keep tidy, but they were sitting in a small, guilty pile in the sink.
She took a shower, absent-mindedly, and prepared and ate an omelet with tiny sausages on the side. Ate it off a magazine.
This was a somewhat magical world. She called a unicorn over to her window and stepped onto his back.
Whoosh!
Let me tell you the difference between this world and ours. By trekking through work and the banal, you were awarded fantastical prizes and privileges in this increasingly magical realm. At the end, it was like stepping off a boat you had suffered on, to land in a place of mystery and beauty. Believing in this possibility was a large part of making the humdrum everyone knew more palatable. The unicorn taxis, the water-spirits in the drinking fountains and werewolf hairdressers were all evidence that a better world was coming.
Our heroine would take the unicorn to get to her job, a shoe-store for the wealthy and uneasy to impress. His name was Fancycorn and he would let her off at a gas station for a few seconds if she needed something to drink before going in to her job, or some cigarettes. He wouldn't let her waste time, so if she, let's say, read a magazine before buying something, she could expect to find Fancycorn floating in the sky above the awning over the pumps, using the power of his magical horn, which, you should know, lit up and played spirited elven music when in use. To her, that was the sound of guilt. She would have to apologize to him to get him to come down, but she knew it was for her own good.
And off they would fly! Amazing!
[elven-style flutes heard]
