Goode Callen stretched across the queen bed. She was enveloped in its satin sheets and warm comforter. With a sleepy yawn, Goode shuffled into the dark kitchen.
“Crap,” she whispered, when she realized that she hadn’t bought more of the expensive, yet lousy, coffee. Today would be a good day to go back to sleep. Goode thought remorsefully.

Today would also have been a good day to pay her utilities bill, seeing as the service man was outside turning off her water and electricity.

“My father is sending me a check,” Goode pleaded with him. The man scowled at her satin robe.
“Listen, I don’t want to do this, but I’ve gotta get paid.”
“Today hasn’t been my day,” She sighed, with a toss of her short, black curls. “Cut me some slack. The bank is coming to take away the house next week; they told me to get lost.”
“What did you tell them?” he asked, unexpectedly intrigued.
“I said, ‘How can I get lost if I don’t know where I’m going?’” Goode laughed bitterly. “Today isn’t my day. Tomorrow isn’t, either.”