[color=magenta]"65, 66, 67,68.."[/color]  Sophia counted her money quietly. A whiff of dank basement, sweat and sausages broke her thoughts as the door to the office opened behind her. A thickly bearded man, short, stocky and blanketed in an inch of sweat and grime shuffled his way around her to the crates in the corner.  Joseph might have been the owner of the restaurant but he was no stranger to hard work. Not to mention they were short staffed when the food order came in that morning.  

Sophia looked around her for a moment.  Crates of papers piled high to the ceiling,  boxes of food from the delivery this morning. There was something crammed into every corner of the small office and right in the middle was a desk, at least that's what it used to be. That’s what it was supposed to be before the mess of papers and bottles of water and makeshift organizers and yesterday's lunch took over. She looked at Joseph. The nice little Russian man who helped her out with this job 3 years ago. How did things manage to become this much of a mess?

She was an out of work actress, whose last gig was a commercial shoot for hemorrhoid creme 6 months ago. But she wasn't sure what was more sad, that or today's pay. She looked down at the $68 dollars in her hand and contemplated her position. She spent her morning taking orders and serving Irish breakfast to slobbering old men, recovering from their hangovers and now had to run to an audition for a commercial on Tylenol. [color=magenta][i]Is this truly my life?[/i][/color]

Despite the fact that her audition wasn't for anything grand and luxurious, it was supposed to be helping her pay the bills. But she couldn't focus today for some reason. It was like something was pulling her away from herself. [color=magenta][i]But enough of that[/i][/color], she waved off the distraction, put her money away and continued to clock out from her shift. 

Sophia caught the train going downtown, she had some time to kill before her audition and decided she would grab some lunch. Her headache and growling stomach told her she should anyway. She grimaced at the thought of another salad, but her trainer would kill her if she hit the carbs again this afternoon. Especially before an audition. “42nd Street, Times Square - transfer is available to the …” the conductor rattled on as busy commuters hurried in and out of the train. The hustle and bustle and noise of the afternoon rush on the R train only seemed to put her to sleep. 

When she woke though, everything was silent with the exception of waves softly crashing against the beach. No metal grinding against the tracks, screeching in the subway tunnels. No train conductors announcing stops or the tourists that sat next to her, gabbing about the ride and their time in New York City. Nothing. Her head was still throbbing though. The thought of needing a Tylenol sent her jolting up, her eyes widened in panic, and the fear of being late for her audition clouded her senses. It took her a long moment and a few deep breaths to realize the reality of her situation. She blinked a few times to gain focus on her environment. [color=magenta][i]I suppose we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto[/i][/color], she mumbled softly, glancing at the others on the beach. She looked up at the sky, a brow wrinkled as she studied the outstretch of pink. [color=magenta]"Yeah …. we’re definitely not in Kansas anymore …"[/color] 

Her clothes were drenched, and her belongings were no where to be seen. She patted down a pocket, a wad of paper, what seemed like a business card, and her cell phone which of course did not work. A soft sigh escaped her lips, which turned into a groan as she moved to her feet.