She tried to scroll further down the list but nothing happened; she had reached the end, there were no more listings. She looked at the time: it was late afternoon, now, almost evening. Her stomach gurgled, reminding her that she had not eaten, not since that piece of seven-grain toast and strawberry jam she had wolfed down along with a double shot of espresso over twelve hours earlier.
She tabbed over to her email for the umpteenth time. Five new emails: a political call to action (we need you!), two new sales (starting now, don’t miss out!), a reminder that some social media site was updating their privacy policy (did she even have an account there? she couldn’t remember the username), and an unread update of six new listings on her saved search. She deleted that one–she’d already seen them. With a sigh, she set the laptop on the coffee table and stood up, walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge. She stared into it, nothing catching her eye among the stacks of unrelated ingredients (vegetable fruit protein fat carbohydrate). The compressor started up, emphasizing that the door was still open. It felt like too much energy to cook something, too much money to go out for something.
She closed the fridge door and took a clean cup from the dishwasher instead, filled it with cold water from the sink. Dumped it, filled it again, drained it in big gulps. Filled it a third time, carried it with her back to the sofa. She sat down, instinctively reaching for the laptop, thought better of it and picked up her phone instead. Several new messages, all variations of the question for which she had no answer. Without responding to any of them, she cleared the notifications and opened some news app, absently scrolling through the stories (news politics technology science opinion culture).
Gradually she became aware that it was getting dark outside. She stood up again, still holding the phone. Closed the laptop and plugged it in. Scanned the room for her purse, saw it, looked inside to ensure her keys were still there. Dropped the phone in (the pockets on her jeans were useless), shouldered the bag, pulled on her running sneakers, balancing on each foot in turn. She opened the front door, checking the knob afterward to ensure it was locked: the day’s warmth was already beginning to fade, portending a cooler night. Thought briefly about going back for a jacket, felt indifferent. Stepped out, closing the door behind her (click). Began walking into the rapidly growing darkness.