Little One heard the plucks of a guitar from the open window while standing in front Mark Cohen's apartment building. When she looked up at the 5-story building, she noticed the walls were filled with graffiti and garbage was piled and spread out around the apartment. The other apartments on the block also had graffiti and garage everywhere.

"Home sweet home," Mark said opening the door to the building. Little One, while stepping inside, was immediately hit with cold air and the smell of cigarette smoke. She wrinkled her nose and wrapped her arms against her body. She soon realized wearing a tank top in the coldest season of fall in three years was not a good idea. But, she didn't have anything else to wear after she ran away.

"You'd get use to the cold," Mark said walking up the stairs. "This douchebag, also known as our landlord, turned the heat off a couple of days ago and I can hardly feel my feet. But, we light candles to stay warm."

Little One looked up to Mark and Mark looked down to Little One. "But don't worry," Mark added. "It's not that bad. You won't die or anything. Hopefully."

Little One chuckled and held herself tighter.

"I'm used to being cold."

After walking up four flights of stairs, Mark stopped at a door in a dark hallway where both of them heard the sounds of a guitar.

"That's Roger," Mark said taking out his keys to open his apartment door. Little One hugged herself and waited patiently for Mark to open the door. While she waited, she listened to the music coming from inside Mark's apartment. It is beautiful, she thought.

"Roger's a musician. All he ever does is play on his guitar," Mark explained while placing the key in the door lock. "Since I'm roommates with him, it can get very annoying sometimes." Mark turned the key and then opened the door for Little One. "But, I bet you will find it very enjoyable, at times."

Little One stepped in to the apartment and looked around. There was garbage inside the apartment as well as there was garbage outside the apartment. Wrappers from candy bars and open bags of chips laid across the floor as well as piles of paper and books. Also, there was a trash bin in the middle of the apartment, and what it looked like to Little One, was filled with ashes and smelled of something burnt mixed with smoke. She scrunched up her face at the burning smell and turned her attention to the figure on a blue torn-up couch.

Little One scrutinized the figure and the first thing she noticed about the man was that his eyes looked as if he hasn't slept in weeks. Dark circles rested under his eyes that made him look older then she thought he might be when she first looked at him. He didn't have the glow of skin like Mark's skin, which made Little One wonder if he have ever went outside and gotten any sunlight. She noticed there were balled up pieces of paper lying around the couch where the young man sat. She wondered if the balled up pieces of paper were lyrics he had written. She fought the urge to bend down and read some of the crumbled lyrics but was snapped out of the urge when Mark spoke.

"Roger this is Little One, Little One this is Roger."

Roger looked up to where Mark and Little One stood and for some unknown reason, when Roger looked at Little One her heart leaped.

Looking quite confused, Roger settled his guitar down on the couch, stood up, and extended his right hand to Little One. Little One looked into his eyes for a brief second then quickly looked away and shook his hand. What's the matter with me? Little One thought.

"Um, hi," Roger said shaking her small hands.

"Hi," Little One said avoiding his eyes and quickly let go of his hands.

Roger looked from Mark to Little One with a look of utter confusion. Finally he looked at Little One with a smile and asked her: "Is your name really Little One?"

Little One, slowly, looked into his eyes.

"That's what I want to be called."

"Oh," Roger said getting Mark a quick look. Mark shrugged behind her. "Well, welcome."

Little One nodded and looked down at the floor.

Roger stood straight and looked at Mark with a look that says, what is going on here?

Mark seemed to have read his face and replied with his facial expression saying, I will explain later.

"So," Mark clamping his hands together and walking over to a small kitchen area filled with coffee filters and banana peels. "Are you hungry?"

Little One looked up and shook her head no.

"Are you sure?" Roger asked. He noticed how small she was.

"Yes," Little One said. "I ate before I met Mark on the street." Her stomach grumbled in protest.

"Well, make yourself at home," Mark said walking out of the kitchen holding a banana peel and threw it into the ashy trash bin. "And Roger, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure thing," Roger said walking away to a bedroom. Mark followed right behind him.

Little One was left alone in the cold and wrapper-filled room what she would of guessed was the living room. She looked around for a bit and her eyes rested on a picture of Roger and some girl she never seen before. She walked to the bookcase, which had the photo of Roger and the girl. They look happy, Little One evaluated, and felt a pain of something in her heart she couldn't recognize. She looked at how he had his arm around her waist and how her body was close to his with a hand on his chest. She saw that Roger's hair was much shorter in the photo then it was now and there weren't any dark circles under his eyes. Also, the two of them were smiling; it looked like they were in front of a building, which Little One could of guessed, was the Life Café. Little One wondered who that woman was and where she was now.

Little One looked away from the photo with a twinge growing stronger. Why does this always happen every time she sees someone happy? How can this pain in her heart go away? Little One fought the urge for tears to enter her eyes because there was no need for her to feel sorry for herself.

"This is my new life now," Little One told herself. "This is my new home. And I will not think about my past life again. I'm Little One now."

Little One smiled at how funny it was to be called such a name and walked over to the couch with the guitar laying on it and looked out the window.

"It's time to forget," she told herself again. "This is my home now."