It was late, but Iris didn’t care. She couldn’t sleep the past few nights, and she was getting a terrible case of cabin fever. So tonight, she was sitting on the steps outside her apartment, enjoying the crisp air; a half empty bottle of bourbon wrapped in a brown paper bag at her side.
She started whistling, an old tune that she didn’t remember where she learned it. It rang out in the night air, filling the silence with it’s melancholy song.