In the twenty-eighth floor men's room, Robin Michaels stood at the sink and took a long, hard look at himself. His reflection revealed his age, and as he considered his thinning hair and sinking cheeks, he was again amazed that time had moved so swiftly.

His hands dripping wet, he glanced out the window to his left, looking down on the busy Fifth Avenue traffic below. New York was such an exciting city, so raw -- a far cry even from London. It didn't take much to lure him here, and the synchronicity of Amnesty International's human rights conference and Mary Katherine's interview request provided ample justification for this visit.

Robin's life didn't always offer opportunities for quiet introspection, so he found some satisfaction in moments like this one, alone in a corporate restroom. The familiar reflection of his deep-green eyes had a humbling effect these days, and he laughed as he thought again on the angle Mary K's editor had proposed: "The Next Incarnation of Robin Michaels: Rock Star to Renaissance Man." What a joke.

"Who am I?" he whispered to the mirror. No answer. Some final piece remained to be integrated, having eluding him for years. Robin's focus softened, his reflection beginning to blur. He wasn't unhappy. He did not feel incomplete. But there was something missing; he wasn't grounded. A gentle glow brightened within the glass. Robin rested his hands on the sink basin for balance as the luminosity of his reflection grew. He could almost hear that voice....

The door from the hallway swung open. Robin shook the water drops from his fingertips and reached for a paper towel. The mirror caught the double-take of the man in the three-piece suit headed for a nearby stall. Robin had been recognized. He said a silent prayer that the fan in question wouldn't start humming some old, tortured tune as an indication of his appreciation for the musician's work. He had had enough of such encounters in the nearly thirty years since he and his mates had recorded their first song.

Robin checked his watch. It was almost 9:30 a.m. Glitter time. He looked one last time into the mirror to practice the smile he would give the photographer. The next incarnation indeed.

As he balled up the damp towel and walked toward the trash bin, he heard foot-tapping from the stalls, accompanied by a strained voice quietly singing, "Walk me down to that ocean, feel the sand shift under my feet...."

Robin shook his head and sighed. The well-dressed fan had been listening to his music for some time. "Not many people remember that one. Cheers," Robin said politely as he reached for the door.

* * * *

Sharing a wall was the ladies' room. Angela Harris leaned her hands on the rim of the sink and took a deep breath. She turned her head to the right to look down at the passersby on the sidewalk below, so many people rushing about while the automotive traffic progressed in spurts. She had tried to open the window for a breath of fresh air, but these climate controlled buildings did not allow such luxuries. It was just as well, as she doubted the air quality on the other side of the glass.

Angela turned again to the mirror above the sink. She had hoped for a quiet moment of introspection but was overwhelmed by the day's prospects. If the finer details of her business plan found favor with the investors this morning, she and her partner would soon launch what promised to be a truly revolutionary company. Thrilled by the fantastic possibilities, Angela was still battling nervous nausea.

Here she was in the big city. Even though the crowded, fast-paced world outside the window was foreign to her, there was a certain excitement in being in New York. She had made it to the big leagues. Too bad she wouldn't have any time to explore once her meeting had concluded.

She regarded her reflection squarely and was satisfied with what she saw. Her eyes were alive and sparkling -- always a good sign. The light in her gaze was a reliable indicator of her attunement, the flow of her creativity, and her command over the day. This morning, her green eyes glistened. This day would be hers.

It was nearly 9:30 a.m. She adjusted her tailored jacket for the forty-second time and made sure she didn't have any food in her teeth, even though her nerves hadn't allowed her any breakfast.

Then Angela stood still. She listened to the dripping faucet several basins down. She thought she heard singing coming from the air vent. With a sudden tingling in the middle of her back, her thoughts flashed on her twin... Angela shook it off. She was leaving her old world for a new one of her own design. She knew in her heart she was on the right track, at last.

Thirty years old, she thought to herself. Time to get on with your life.

Angela flashed herself a quick, confident smile in the mirror, then walked past the sinks and stalls and opened the door.