Where the sun rarely filters down.

Last night I dreamt of the Spanish Steps.

This morning I woke up, dragged myself through the well rehearsed theater of the post-alarm clock hour, and was ejected out onto the streets that are so cold that it keeps my door from closing and locking.

This morning I walked to the subway, every muscle and sphincter in my body clenching involuntarily, every thought in my mind revolving around the painful gnashing of my teeth and the distress caused by the maddening existence of so many slow movers blocking my path, standing between me and the speedy recovery of bodily warmth.

This morning I rode the crowded train, pressed firmly against a woman of questionable sanity who stood there waving to people I couldn’t see, laughing maniacally to herself. And belching. Loudly. A lot.

This morning I screamed inside as my outside froze and I navigated the multiple horrifying, and quite possibly life-threatening, construction sites on the way to my workday.

This morning I stood in my office building’s lobby waiting an eternity for the decrepit elevators, body thawing slowly, nose running profusely and uncontrollably, and every nerve in my harrowed being screaming out for that first sip of black gold.

But last night... Last night I dreamt of the Spanish Steps.