She walked out of the club that she and her band had been performing at that night. The air was cold and damp, and cigarettes lined the crevices in the sidewalk. The fringe on her dress flapped with every step she took, and she could feel the night air growing colder and windier by the minute. Her feet were sore, and she was exhausted. The power was off at her small apartment again, because she and her roommate had not made enough money in the last month to keep it on. Her salary was below minimum wage, and some days she went without eating a single thing. Yet somehow, she still loved her job. She loved the spotlights, the audience, and the musty smell of the old theatres and clubs. She came to the conclusion that she would not trade any of it in for anything. With that, she walked into her dark apartment with a satisfied sigh, and realized that she, herself, might be the happiest woman in the world. And who could ask for anything more?