yours is the Earth and everything that's in it

Picture this:

The scene opens to a woman in her mid-to-late twenties: lanky, blonde, with an assured air to her stride. It's nearing dusk, around 7:00, the autumn sun is nestled into it's hammock for the night. She's walking towards an apartment building, some thirty stories high, in the middle of an aged neighborhood in the heart of the city. As she walks, the leaves under her boots crackle and pop. Unlocking the door and stepping inside, her face softens as she effortlessly climbs a set of stairs. Passing an old man with a jovial grin plastered to his face, she smiles and asks him how his wife is doing. A joyous reply floats down the hallway. Reaching her door at last, the woman scrambles with her bag to shove the door open, stumbling over an array of shoes tossed this way and that in the doorway. The apartment is roomy and immaculately designed, very modern and clean. Abandoned mugs with the last dregs of primly brewed Rosie Lee and satin camisoles scattered around scream otherwise however, it is evident that the flat could use a good tidy. She tosses her bag on the bench facing the door, orchestrates her stereo to begin and kicks off her boots. A faint mewing is heard from outside the frame, and a pan of the camera reveals a black kitten poking its head out from the bedroom, then purring as it scurries to greet her. Picking it up, she gives its tummy a scratch and plops it on the kitchen counter for a final nose peck before putting the kettle on. With dismay, the woman drags out her finest tea set, realizing every other cup is in need of a scrub, and places a single sugar cube and single teabag in a single cup. Tea for one, solace in its purest form. A siren can be heard blaring past the kitchen window, but is drowned out by the lively jazz melody dancing across the apartment. Shimmying to her walk-in closet, the woman quickly ties her hair up and chooses a pale green mens dress shirt, size Large, from the stack on the left, and fishes out a pair of shorts from the pile beside her bed. As she dresses she recalls a time, many years before, when she was out shopping with a good friend of hers and declared that it would be her ideal in the future to sleep in mens dress shirts with exceptional thread counts. Silently congratulating herself, she sidesteps into the kitchen. She pours a champagne flute full of milk, placing it in front of the kitten. Perched atop a stack of literature, the kitten lapped up the drink and looking up, locked eyes with the woman. Whiskers wet, eyes like mirrors and a gaze as pristine as a spring bud, the kitten could rival any newborn. Content, the woman curls up on her leather couch, blessed with the beauty of the moment, and closed her eyes.