In the year 2002, four twenty-something-year-olds attempt to navigate their surroundings in New York City while getting drawn into a culture of drugs, glamor, and violence.
At the same time, an old bookstore clerk struggles to overcome grief, until...
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Callie is the last person to get out of bed. She conceals her eyes under her messy hair. She rolls to the left, allowing the white bedsheets to expose her naked back. A small spider waddles across the stiff floor. It maneuvers around the piles of paperback novels, vinyl albums, laundry, and empty paint cans until its bare feet brush against her forearm.
Her eyes twitch. Fingers dance across bare skin. An exhausted sigh snakes out of her nostrils as Callie squirms under the covers. The spider waddles across the bedsheets until Callie unwittingly crushes it with her thumb.
Entering the room is Matt draining his water bottle.
He scratches the sun tattoo near his belly button, collapses on the bed, and showers his Callie with tender kisses.
"Good morning," he whispers in her left ear.
Callie giggles. She wraps her arms around Matt's neck and kisses his neck. Delicate fingers and hair intertwine. Matt's moist lips caress Callie's jawline and collarbone. But once the alarm blares its siren, their passionate morning stops.
"Ugh!" Matt groans. "Another special moment ruin by the fucking bell."
Callie squirms over to the clock and pulls the plug from the outlet.
"Well, at least it's Saturday." she yawns. "But I have to leave at 10 o'clock."
"Why 10 o'clock?"
"Because I have this huge art project to do," she explains. "I am going to take a walk around New York and shoot some photos."
His lips stretch into a smile. "Cool. Do you want me to make you anything for lunch?"
"No, they're treating me to lunch at John's Pizzeria."
"Save me a slice?"
"Sure."
After planting a kiss on his mouth, Callie grabs her crumpled Abercrombie tee off the floor, puts it on, then wanders into the bathroom. Long lines sag under her eyes. Large pimples and disgusting whiteheads have already started growing on her face. Not to mention her breath smells like rotting fruit.
"Ugh," she mutters.
Turning on the water, Callie grasps her dark red toothbrush, applies a dollop of mint green paste, and scrubs her teeth until she sees a naked Matt entering the shower. He spent a couple of hours scrubbing himself under the running water. White soap smells like mango and oranges. It slides out of his hands and soars into the drain, leaving behind a trail of white foam.
"Babe," he called, yanking the shower curtain. "Can you pass me a towel?"
Nodding her head, Callie pulls the large, gray towel from the rack and hands it to him.
"Thanks." Matt winked.
He takes his time to dry himself and wrap the gray towel around his waist before wading out of the bathroom. Heavy eyelids droop. He wanted to go back to bed, but Matt has a lot of errands to run.
