Tracey had an apartment that was at the bottom of a stairway in an unfinished basement. As I walked down the stairs I saw her sitting at a small desk that looked like it had been lifted from my old high school. She looked like a receptionist and acted like she was entertaining me. I felt like I needed to outdo her in some way so I told her that Bill and I were going to see Ani DiFranco. This didn’t make her mad as I had expected, she only quoted an imaginary line from one of Ani’s songs, something about coffee, which echoed in my own head as she sung it out loud. I followed her into another room, around the base of the staircase I had previously descended and one of her roommates sat on a couch, speechless, possibly smoking, but regardless not responding to my hello and quick flashed smile. "OOH! I wrote you a letter!!!," Tracey said to me. She was digging around for it in this room, but she may have pulled it out from inside her shirt. She gave it to me and became rather perky, and bouncy. She led me upstairs to leave, but she was the one that went out of the door. I watched her through a pulled back shade. Another woman was hiking up her skirt to show her panties to Tracey, which made me burn with jealousy. I hid from this point on and watched Tracey from inside walls and around corners as she walked around the ground floor of this house, suddenly white walls and sunlight. She sat on a couch, with back towards the wall, curled up with a notebook and I watched her write, watched her shirt fall and rise with her breathing and her hands running along the smooth sides of her left breast.