Write “the daily humdrum physical and emotional experiences of your character.” 
Walter Mosley, This Year You Write Your Novel

A huge bang jolted Miller out of a deep sleep. In her sleepy state, she was convinced her rowdy neighbors lit firecrackers and tossed them into the dumpsters; for them achieving the added extra effect of a reverberated “BANG!” She checked the clock; it read 6:30 a.m. The time suggested she rethink the probability of firecrackers.
    Her back ached from too many hours on the couch; she rolled over. Brian left over two hours ago; Miller did not hear him go. As she yawned, she tasted beer and cigarettes. She vaguely remembered her late night party in the enclosed garden of her San Francisco Parkmerced townhouse. She tried to remember why or when she had started smoking; she drifted back to sleep. Her morning moved in increments of ten-minute dreams and ten-minute clock checks.