Chapter 2

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Grey envelopes piled up the mail slot of my apartment door.

Overdue bills again, baby. Heck yeah. I'm looking forward to paying them using the money I don't even got that I've earned using the job I didn't even get.

I wonder if Dad would be so kind as to lend me some money in the meantime. Maybe Mom might even pitch in a bit... hmm. After laughing at me for a bit, I'm sure they'll come around.

Open the door, flip the switch, and... they cut the power. Oh well, electricity is overrated anyway. Nothing some candles wouldn't solve. Rain's still pouring as well so I won't have to worry much about getting too hot in here.

Wet shoes off, soaked socks out, I took a step in, marking the calendar that hung on the wall as I did with a big fact cross on today's date.

It's official, folks. It's now been three months since I've decided to live on my own. There months streak of pure independence. Three months streak of total unemployment.

This calls for a celebration. What do I have in the fridge, I wonder?

I scampered my way over to the kitchen, bumping and crashing into every single furniture in my possession on my way over, which wasn't much, admittedly, but I'm sure my bruised and battered pinky toe would beg to differ.

With a painful hiss of a clumsy man, I swung open the fridge - no fridge light, obviously - and found a melted ice-cream packet and some bottled water.

Ran out of food, it seems.

Ah well, It'll have to do.

Now picture this: It's a gloomy, grey afternoon day. It's raining outside. Inside of a quiet apartment building, a man drenched to the bone, sits on his armchair, gloopy ice-cream in a porcelain bowl at tableside, a lighted candle by his side. Silently, he scraped the ice-cream soup with a spoon and ate.

Pretty pathetic, right? Well, not really. There are much worse things. Like sitting out in a dumpster at a random alley in the street. Least I ain't there...

Yet.

Should I... check on her? Can't get her out of my mind for some reason.

No! Nope. Stay out of it. It's none of your business, me. What if you get infected and start speaking in cursive like her? Best you just continue doing your own thing, yes.

By the time I was done with, uh, 'Lunch' - yeah, let's call it that, only three minutes have ticked by. Knowing much couldn't be done wallowing in misery, much less without any power, I decided to call it a day and hit the hay.

Candlelight guided me to the comfort of my bed, an instant K.O as soon as my head hit the pillow. And just like that, ends my no-good, very bad day. I'm sleeping forever now.

Or so I wish.

I woke up to a light drizzle overcasting the evening sky. I realized I was still wearing the business suit, all creased and scrunched up now, but who gives a shit. I bought the suit for the day, I'm going to use it for the whole day, damn it.

Woke up starving too, which was obviously a given. My wallet laid strewn on the bedside table, and it always breaks my damn heart having to open it up and see only a few pitiful notes left inside.

Begrudgingly, I fished out just enough to purchase a small meal from the convenience store nearby. Time to head out. With help once more from candlelight, I tucked on my shoes and ventured out into the night, umbrella in hand.

The route wasn't too complicated. A left turn here, a right turn there... what concerned me the most, however, was the path up ahead. Ain't long till I'm confronted by the same alley which she was in. Maybe still is.

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