784 Days, 2 Hours, 24 Minutes, 47 Seconds

Her finger's still numb. Despite over a week wearing the collar. Mostly. Sometimes it seems better with the collar off. But it's not as bad as before. It'll pass, she supposes. No need to find a neurologist. She recalls years ago, having a hairline fracture on her forearm. An orthopedist she finally saw said it would heal itself in time, though better if he put it in a splint. This was after the hospital found nothing then lost her x-rays. She went for the splint. What they didn't mention was the pain when it was removed, and the weeks of exercise. As she vowed at that point, never again. Quoth the raven.

784 Days, 6 Hours, 15 Minutes, 10 Seconds

Approximately. She'd have to be crazy to drive through midtown this time of year, that's why she takes a cab. But the cab fares no better. She can't even see the clock in this light. Writing makes her nauseous. She makes her first resolution for the new year: either leave earlier or calm down about being late. One more resolution she'll never keep. A man in the car beside her smokes, flicking ashes out the window. It's been a long time since she's seen that. They pass the old Second Avenue Deli. Dead.