BAD DAY

Matt stood at the corner of Hill and 7th, in the middle of a torrential downpour, staring at the “Don't Walk” sign at the opposite end of the crosswalk. “Hill and 7th has to be one of the longest red lights in the entire world,” he thought to himself. He wished for a break in the nonstop stream of traffic so that he could sprint across the street and go home. His house was directly across from him; he would be inside in no time. If only the light would change.
He pulled the pink slip of paper back out of his pocket, studying where the ink had run, how the corners had folded over and stuck together. Matt had always thought he'd been appreciated at the payroll department at International, but apparently his position wasn't a necessity. He'd start looking for another job tomorrow. He knew that Brian, his former division supervisor, would speak well of him if he used him as a reference on his resume. He remembered the mail crate he'd filled with the contents of his cubicle; it was in the trunk of his car. He would need to stop by the scrapyard tomorrow to pick it up.
Matt looked at the soggy pink note for a moment longer before tucking it back into his pocket. He rubbed his shoulder. It still hurt a bit to move, from where it had slammed violently against the armrest a few hours ago. He'd gotten a good look at the bruise, about the size of a baseball, but the paramedic who had arrived at the accident had said that he was, “okay to leave,..nothing serious.” Matt had given the officer his statement as he watched the tow truck hoist his crumpled car up and begin to drive away. He didn't have any change for bus fare, so he had walked the rest of the way from 15th Street. About two blocks closer to home, it had started to rain.
The light turned green and the traffic finally stopped. Matt jogged across 7th Street and walked around to the backdoor. He entered into the laundry room, where he stripped off his rain-soaked shirt and pants, dropping them into the washer. It was cold, almost as cold as it was outside. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from the basket on top of the dryer, but couldn't find any socks.
He glanced at the clock on the wall: 10:30pm. The house was quiet, but he could hear the TV on in the living room. He followed the faint noise, and found April curled up on the couch, her eyes closed, breathing softly. The quilt lay in a heap on the floor next to her; it must have fallen off. He picked it up and draped it over her, softly. She opened her eyes slightly, then smiled, reaching up to him and pulling him closer. He slid onto the couch next to her, under the blanket.
April kissed him gently on the back of his neck, letting her arm rest over his side. "Hi," she whispered.
Matt sighed, exhausted, as he shut his eyes. "Hello."
"Bad day?" she asked, moving closer to him.
Matt held her hand, feeling its warmth, and smiled. "Not really."