Golden Hour

She was grateful when, at 6:40 p.m., a sort of peace — a gauzy cloak of comfort— floated down from the the ceiling, covering her head and shoulders. Her cat purred at her side and the golden hour had finally arrived. Meanwhile, the neighborhood teenagers, who jammed hard, pulsed and pounded three houses down. The faraway beat grew irritating… and then for a moment she couldn’t tell the difference between the drummer and her heartbeat.