A/N: As has been demonstrated by chapter five and will be continue to be
demonstrated here, I am a major coffee addict. Also, events in this chapter
may seem irrelevant, but they aren't.
Chapter Six
MARK
New York at six AM is really something. It's this early, when the sun's just rising that everything seems possible. The cool morning air and soft light makes the city seem clean and new, like maybe today redemption is possible.
Then of course, you look around. There's an empty beer bottle in the gutter, there's a homeless man curled in a ball against the cold, like a stinking, wiry haired fetus. Across the street from the building is the scorched skeleton of a car that someone set on fire one night. It was quite a bon fire! I remember, someone brought out a boom box, someone else brought drinks and a very inventive somebody provided marshmallows and we had an impromptu block party. Of course I expect the owner of the van wasn't as pleased with the outcome. Now, months later, the van is still there. People have gratified it BLOW ME!!!! is written in giant fuzzy, pink block letters. BLOW ME!!!! God, that's New York for you.
And there's the Life Café. It's squashed on a corner, the black awning heavy with dew, the chairs are still stacked on top of the tables outdoors but it's open. The lights are on and there are already a couple of people hunched over coffees or early tofu pancakes.
I should go home. I mean, Roger and Mimi have most likely stopped fighting by now. I mean, can you actually fight all night? They both have good stamina, this has been proven multiple times, but shouting is not the same as sex, is it?
I push the door open and slouch at the counter. I wonder if I can get away with putting coffee on credit again, 'I swear I'll pay you as soon as I have money!' right. That'll really go over well! Oh, well water's free isn't it?
God, there's just too much to think about right now. There's Angel, the feeling that she may not get better this time. There's Roger and Mimi, constantly battling it out, there's having no money, or food, or heat, or electric. And there's that job. I can't sell out, no matter what I can't sell out but sometimes.sometimes, when I can't even afford a coffee, it's like, well why not? Surely, selling your sole (so to speak) is better than starving to death? Maybe so, maybe so.
"What can I get you?"
"Just water, please."
The waitress purses her lips.
"Hey, can I get another coffee?" calls the girl beside me.
"Sure thing." Says the waitress, setting a cup down beside her. I can feel my mouth watering. When she's trotted off to get my satisfying cup of water, I feel a sharp finer poke me in the arm. It's the girl next to me, the lucky owner of a nice hot beverage that she can actually *afford *
"Here." She says, pushing the mug at me. She isn't conventionally pretty, she's got wide green eyes, long, dull black hair and a pointed chin, but her mouth is crooked and she's too pail to be really pretty. Attractive, I guess. She'd be perfect to film. "And don't tell me you ain't want it. You look half dead."
"Thanks," I stammer, "but I can't. It's yours. You paid for it."
"I bought it for you." she insists. "Don't try to be a gentleman. I know valor's fucking dead anyway so drink the coffee before I pore it on the floor." To demonstrate how serious she is, she actually lifts up the cup and dribbles a little on the floor.
"Fine! Fine, I'll drink it!"
"And you'll like it too!" she says triumphantly, slamming the heavy mug down before me. "I'm Sara Jones." She sticks out a manicured hand.
"Mark Cohen." I say, shaking her hand, before turning to the drink.
"Here's you water." Says the waitress. "Be nice to him, Sara." She adds.
"Surely Shirley!" chirps Sara. "I'll be a regular *angel *"
I very nearly choke on my coffee. It's not just that she's said 'angel', that's not really remarkable, it's 'surely Shirley'. Angel used to say that, and as far as I know it's not exactly a common expression.
"Um."
"Si?"
"This is going to sound crazy-"
"I bet it won't. I've heard many crazy things darling. Don't be scared, I wont hurt you if I think you're nuts. I'll just run."
I laugh, "Okay. Well. Um. Do you, by any chance know an Angel Shunard?" I mumble, feeling insanely stupid.
But now it's Sara's turn to choke on her coffee. She stares at me like a deer caught in the lights of a semi. "I-yeah. Yeah I do. How do you.?"
"I'm a friend."
"Wow. Oh. Wow. It's just. I haven't seen Angel in a while. Not since last Christmas actually." She laughs sadly, "How is she?"
Oh, no. I never should have brought this up! "She's. She's not doing so good. She's pretty sick actually."
Sara sucks in her breath and the lets it out in a low whistle. She looks like she's working hard not to cry. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph." She whispers, crossing herself rapid fire. "How sick?"
"She's in the hospital." I don't want my voice to break, but it does. I don't want to cry in front of a stranger, but I'm dangerously close to it.
"Where? Which one? I need to see her."
"I'll take you if you like, I was just there."
"Thank you."
**** A/N: abrupt ending.hmm.must work on that.
Chapter Six
MARK
New York at six AM is really something. It's this early, when the sun's just rising that everything seems possible. The cool morning air and soft light makes the city seem clean and new, like maybe today redemption is possible.
Then of course, you look around. There's an empty beer bottle in the gutter, there's a homeless man curled in a ball against the cold, like a stinking, wiry haired fetus. Across the street from the building is the scorched skeleton of a car that someone set on fire one night. It was quite a bon fire! I remember, someone brought out a boom box, someone else brought drinks and a very inventive somebody provided marshmallows and we had an impromptu block party. Of course I expect the owner of the van wasn't as pleased with the outcome. Now, months later, the van is still there. People have gratified it BLOW ME!!!! is written in giant fuzzy, pink block letters. BLOW ME!!!! God, that's New York for you.
And there's the Life Café. It's squashed on a corner, the black awning heavy with dew, the chairs are still stacked on top of the tables outdoors but it's open. The lights are on and there are already a couple of people hunched over coffees or early tofu pancakes.
I should go home. I mean, Roger and Mimi have most likely stopped fighting by now. I mean, can you actually fight all night? They both have good stamina, this has been proven multiple times, but shouting is not the same as sex, is it?
I push the door open and slouch at the counter. I wonder if I can get away with putting coffee on credit again, 'I swear I'll pay you as soon as I have money!' right. That'll really go over well! Oh, well water's free isn't it?
God, there's just too much to think about right now. There's Angel, the feeling that she may not get better this time. There's Roger and Mimi, constantly battling it out, there's having no money, or food, or heat, or electric. And there's that job. I can't sell out, no matter what I can't sell out but sometimes.sometimes, when I can't even afford a coffee, it's like, well why not? Surely, selling your sole (so to speak) is better than starving to death? Maybe so, maybe so.
"What can I get you?"
"Just water, please."
The waitress purses her lips.
"Hey, can I get another coffee?" calls the girl beside me.
"Sure thing." Says the waitress, setting a cup down beside her. I can feel my mouth watering. When she's trotted off to get my satisfying cup of water, I feel a sharp finer poke me in the arm. It's the girl next to me, the lucky owner of a nice hot beverage that she can actually *afford *
"Here." She says, pushing the mug at me. She isn't conventionally pretty, she's got wide green eyes, long, dull black hair and a pointed chin, but her mouth is crooked and she's too pail to be really pretty. Attractive, I guess. She'd be perfect to film. "And don't tell me you ain't want it. You look half dead."
"Thanks," I stammer, "but I can't. It's yours. You paid for it."
"I bought it for you." she insists. "Don't try to be a gentleman. I know valor's fucking dead anyway so drink the coffee before I pore it on the floor." To demonstrate how serious she is, she actually lifts up the cup and dribbles a little on the floor.
"Fine! Fine, I'll drink it!"
"And you'll like it too!" she says triumphantly, slamming the heavy mug down before me. "I'm Sara Jones." She sticks out a manicured hand.
"Mark Cohen." I say, shaking her hand, before turning to the drink.
"Here's you water." Says the waitress. "Be nice to him, Sara." She adds.
"Surely Shirley!" chirps Sara. "I'll be a regular *angel *"
I very nearly choke on my coffee. It's not just that she's said 'angel', that's not really remarkable, it's 'surely Shirley'. Angel used to say that, and as far as I know it's not exactly a common expression.
"Um."
"Si?"
"This is going to sound crazy-"
"I bet it won't. I've heard many crazy things darling. Don't be scared, I wont hurt you if I think you're nuts. I'll just run."
I laugh, "Okay. Well. Um. Do you, by any chance know an Angel Shunard?" I mumble, feeling insanely stupid.
But now it's Sara's turn to choke on her coffee. She stares at me like a deer caught in the lights of a semi. "I-yeah. Yeah I do. How do you.?"
"I'm a friend."
"Wow. Oh. Wow. It's just. I haven't seen Angel in a while. Not since last Christmas actually." She laughs sadly, "How is she?"
Oh, no. I never should have brought this up! "She's. She's not doing so good. She's pretty sick actually."
Sara sucks in her breath and the lets it out in a low whistle. She looks like she's working hard not to cry. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph." She whispers, crossing herself rapid fire. "How sick?"
"She's in the hospital." I don't want my voice to break, but it does. I don't want to cry in front of a stranger, but I'm dangerously close to it.
"Where? Which one? I need to see her."
"I'll take you if you like, I was just there."
"Thank you."
**** A/N: abrupt ending.hmm.must work on that.