Ira wakes to the familiar sound of rain pounding the tin roof of her tiny studio apartment. The air is damp, the night still young. Groggily, she pulls herself off her mattress on the floor and drags herself to the window, opening it wide to let the fresh air in. The rain softens the sounds of the city's hustle and bustle and calms her troubled mind. The neon lights of the street glow dully in shades of pink, purple, and blue. She yawns, stretching her fisted hands toward the sloping, moldy ceilings.

  She staggers to the bathroom and blearily flicks on the light. It’s dank and yellow in here. She studies the old fixture above as she brushes her teeth.

  Need to update that soon. Maybe it would help me feel better.

  But now, she needs to eat. And she’s te for work.

  She throws her long, stringy dark hair into a clip and pulls on a hoodie, hastily shoving her feet into her well-loved white trainers.

  Ouch.

  She grimaces. It’s always hard to slide them on with her long nails.

  My shoes aren't looking so hot. She notes to herself. I’ll have to buy a new pair soon.

  Then, a snarky follow-up thought: With what money?

  No time to worry about that now. She’s hungry, and she’s te.

  She barrels down the thickly carpeted stairs of her apartment complex, the familiar scent of mold gracing her nostrils. On the st step, she pces her oversized hands firmly on either wall and clears the final two steps — same as she always does. She shoulders the gss door open, closes it quickly behind her, and listens for the tch to click into pce before leaving.

  She shivers, shrinking deeper into her hoodie. The rain soaks through quickly, droplets gathering and trailing down her face. She doesn't mind. She kind of likes the the way it feels.

  She walks up to the rusty bike rack, avoiding her reflection in the storefront window. She hates the way she looks — always has. Her hair is a dull shade of bck. Her nose is just a little too big to be pretty. Her lips are thin, pale, and remind her of a dead fish. When her expression is neutral, her cheeks seem sunken, corpse-like. When she smiles, her cheeks pull up asymmetrically, making her face appear swollen and her nose even bigger. Even her eyes — a warm and soulful brown — feel too small for the rest of her features, and one is noticeably droopier than the other. Not to mention the strange red colour they seem to turn after she cries.

  She shakes her head, snapping herself back to the present.

  Who cares if I’m hideous? There are more important things.

  Plus, she’d been working hard not to think too much about her appearance tely, and it had been working. She’d been feeling a bit better. That’s what she’d keep telling herself, at least.

  Rain continues to soak through her hood as she scans a wet finger on her scooter lock. The familiar green light flickers on, and the lock clicks open.

  Good. It had been giving her trouble tely — one less thing to worry about.

  She pulls her hood tightly around her face, backs the scooter out of the rack, kicks the footstand back with a soaked sneaker, and sets off down the street, in the bikene, of course.

  The familiarity of routine allows her mind to wander, and she welcomes it. She always dreads leaving her tiny apartment — but every time she gets on the scooter and starts riding, feeling the fresh air hit her face and fill her lungs, she feels better. Every time. Even when the rain pelts her skin and chills her to the bone, like it is now. The thought of warm ramen soup lights warms her chest. She leans forward on her scooter, speeding up.

  When she arrives at her destination, she parks her scooter and locks it quickly, ambling up to the door. For a moment, she pauses to admire the dipidated storefront, its lights dimly flickering inside.

  She grins to herself. Her favourite pce in Noctreign.

  Umami Hollow.