Jason yearned for a cigarette, but he had run out this morning and was almost certain he had used up his iron reserve in the kitchen cabinet last month. He contemplated the importance of food against the importance of nicotine and the relation to his monetary situation. He resignatingly discovered he would have to eat noodles with ketchup the rest of the month if he wanted to smoke and pay the rent only three weeks late this time. But he had done it before and he liked ketchup. His gig tonight had been quite successful, the owner of the bar had even given him the prospect of future gigs, maybe once or twice a month. That was good, to have a regular gig. You could make a name for yourself, draw in a fan base eventually. It would certainly pay the electricity bill and he missed having running hot water. He looked over a sheet of paper with the lyrics and the chords to a song he'd written, which he was supposed to hand over to a record company representative tomorrow morning. They had some newly casted "rock band" they needed a hit single for and had liked the demo version Jason had sent in a while ago in the hope of getting offered a record deal. But they had only offered him a fairly low sum for that one song and all the rights to it. It wasn't the best he'd ever written, he thought, but it was a part of his soul he was selling. He wrote about his own feelings and experiences, his songs came to life when he sang them. It wasn't the first time he sold a song, either, but every time he felt he was selling out his vision and his artistic identity. Be that as it may, he had no choice, he owed $300 to the recording studio, that had produced his demo tape and $500 to the bank for last month's rent, gas bill and phone bill. The only things he really owned were his guitar, his keyboard and his talent.
Their meeting wasn't a conscious one, they had probably been on the same train before, given they both lived in Brooklyn, but tonight they sat across from each other both wishing for a little break, a minute to catch their breath, for life to stop long enough that they could catch up. But like almost all their wishes, this one was in vain as well. If they wanted to make anything of this life, they had to play the cards dealt to them, as unfortunate as they were at times.
She had seen Jason when she got off at Kingston Avenue, but she hadn't looked at him, realized him. the minute she had wondered about his gutiar case the thought had faded again. Another stranger in the New York anonymity.
Likewise he wouldn't remember their first meeting either. The real world wasn't his favorite thing to concern himself with, excet for the painful instances it made itself noticed, when the hot water sufficed or the TV turned itself off, because yet again he hadn't paid the bills, had been too wrapped up in his own world, the playgrounds of his mind. He had fled into this world in his childhood already, it was the only place he could stand to be in longer than a day. Where he felt safe.
...
