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*ೃ:.✧ ─── ( 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚 ) ❛ HE'S NOT COMING HOME ❜ ⌣*ೃ:.✧✼°․⋆⌣ ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
𝗼𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟵𝟲𝟮
FALL HAD commenced early and hastily in brooklyn, new york like it often did. it was now the afternoon and evelyn fox decided to light her fireplace while she worked on an article, for the new york times, in her apartment's office. she's been working for the times for almost three years now.
while going to night school for writing, she started simply editing papers and over time, she started pitching news stories and now was being given the chance to write her own articles. she already had a small cult following and sensed a promotion, to have her own column, right around the corner. she could feel it.
she wrote vigorously on her typewriter as she listened to dream lover by dion on the newest record player her fiancé had gotten her. the mixture of writing and rock n' roll music created an exuberate state of mind for the young woman.
growing up in a strict christian household, she was never allowed to listen to rock 'n roll (aka the devil's music), and now that she was an adult living her own life, she could finally enjoy the loud melody and suggestive lyrics without ridicule.
as for her love of writing, she couldn't remember a day when she didn't love it. ever since she was a child, she found writing down her thoughts and beliefs on paper would help her remember them, especially since her parents always tried to change them and think for her themselves.
she always caused a bit of chaos for her parents. they were keen on appearance and the word of god, and it seemed that evelyn's very existence contradicted that. she felt trapped in her own home, only wanting some excitement in her life but it seemed that any form of fun was a sin. now, at last, she was at a content place in her life. in fact, she rarely ever frowned she was so rapturous.
evelyn took a drag from the cigarette that was balancing between her thin polished fingers before leaning back in her chair and admiring what she had just finished writing. a smirk started to form on her lips knowing this article was definitely going to grab the attention of the chief editor.
"you've done it again, miss fox." she praises herself. the ring of her doorbell made her slightly jump and took her attention away from her paper.
she put out her cigarette in the ashtray next to her typewriter as she stood up and smoothed out her pearl white pencil skirt. then, she walked over to her record player near the door of her office and raised the needle to pause the vinyl.
this time, there was a knock instead of the doorbell. "i'll be right there!" she elegantly called out, her voice sounding like silk.
