The Saddest Thing In The World

I've worked in the same building for almost 3 years.
It's weird when I think back - the starting, the beginning, the newness.

There is a gym on the penthouse floor of the building and I started using it because it was free and because it had pretty decent equipment.
I love running on a treadmill and the view is great so far up in the sky - the mountains look incredible and I often try to figure out where my apartment is from my vantage point.

Something weird about me...I am obsessed by certain numbers. Mostly 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 23, and 75 - but in a bigger sense, I like multiples of 5 a lot.

So, when I select numbered things, I prefer those numbers or multiples of 5.

That means when I started going to the gym...I tried to find a locker with a number that met my neurotic, obsessive compulsive number weirdness.
And every time, I was drawn to #85.


Sadly, someone was always in #85.

And someone has been...for over two years...
Maybe longer.

A nice pair of slacks, a brown shirt, a pretty peach colored scarf, some brown socks, and sensible brown leather shoes.

And every time I'm in the gym, I gravitate towards #85.
And every time, I realize that the lady that chose #85 never removed her things.

Never ever.
I want to know what happened. I doubt it's anything dramatic. I'm sure my imagination is far more elaborate than the reality...
But I like wondering. I like pondering who she was, why she left her things, if she wonders where they are - like, while vacuuming or something, she remembers a pretty peach scarf that she used to have and tries to remember where she left it.