deep, deep inhale.
her lungs fill with the dry, dusty air; the pungent tang of hot metal and old axel grease tease their way into her sinuses.
she pauses just inside the dented and splintered doorway, running her eyes over the dim, angular shapes of machinery at rest. the vast recesses of the warehouse create deep shadows at the edge of her sight, though she knows every nook and corner of this place.
the door creeks a soft wooden protest as she nudges it fully open, and the red-gold light of the morning spills across the stained grey pavement under her feet.
she steps across the threshold, and reaches around the worn wood trim for the ancient light switch...
thus she begins her day as she has every day for the last fifteen years...