she is on the floor using an exercise rig, sliding into crunches, pushing herself, sweating, alone. we begin drifting to the rain-spattered window as night sounds filter in, horns, someone shouting, a car moving by with thunderous bass music that pulses the very air and rattles the loose glass of her window.
as they walk in, she moves into the kitchen.
she is just returning home after her shift, very tired, drained. she absently turns on the tv, the stereo. she notices a blinking light on her message machine and hits the button.
we move through sharon's nearly dark apartment, its stillness in strange contrast to the manic trumpet riffs. we pan to find her curled in a chair, staring deeply, sadly, drinking a drink. as we pan, we discover she is looking at that mural of the mountains and through this to her thoughts, and then she makes a decision and rises and goes to the phone, punches in a number.
she is exercising on the machine, sliding into her crunches, fast and furious, but all the pain and sorrow is in her eyes, and in a moment she just stops. the trumpet music keeps going on through this. she looks over at the phone.