I believe that I owe you good people something wonderful after a few days. Hm.
From writing.com--a writing prompt.
Her name was Angie. She had shiny, black hair that curled in ringlets down her back and big hazel eyes. She lived in a quiet, old apartment on a quiet old street next to a Portuguese restaurant and an antique store. Every evening, she closed her shades and did yoga stretches on her hardwood floors or made herself some loose leaf herbal tea. While she stretched and breathed and pondered, she listened to opera. She enjoyed pop opera, like Andrea Bocelli and Josh Groban. Sometimes the Three Tenors. But her favorite was anything by Wagner. Soaring, long, and ferocious. She loved it. She would close her eyes and let the voices carry her. Sometimes she would sing, at the top of her lungs, with her off kilter, uneven voice. Singing through an entire chorus would leave her limp, drained, and blissfully happy, fully relaxed into a yoga pose or holding a warm, empty mug in her cupped hand.
In the morning, when she woke up--early, before the sun, she would stand in the dark, brushing her teeth. Combing her hair back into a ponytail. Applying lipstick to her lipsand then vanilla scented lotion to her hands. Keeping her eyes closed and her shoulders relaxed until she stepped out her door. Then she walked purposefully, swiftly to the bus stop and caught the number 32 bus--always on time--to her work. The city sanitation brigade. Zipping into a navy blue jumpsuit, slipping on heavy leather working gloves, she jumped into the cab of a rumbling green "Waste Collection Vehicle" as her boss, Vin, called it. A front loading garbage truck. Rumbling off into the morning, to wake people up to the sound of garbage cans being emptied. And in her mind, Wagner played.