Tiffany watched the dank and dirty pub that surrounded her with sorrow. She had let herself be cornered into a a place of woe, misery, faked smiles and little to no happiness within cinderblock walls. The lights seemed too dim and yet at just the right tone for such a place she had invited herself in. Tiffany had excluded herself from the outside world to such an extent that she had gained comfort in the little pub as if it were an old sanctuary of peace; beyond the world of fear, prejudice and hatred she had lived in for far too long. The long, wrong roads of shattered dreams and knifes stabbing her in the back seemed little to no importance in this place and so whether it was hell itself or not; she seemed happy enough to live in it with her favourite companion.
She stirred the strong drink alone, turning back to the empty chair opposite her that seemed an excuse for her to feel lonely as well; despite bringing on this misery to herself. Though she had not wanted such torture from those she had once called her friends, she had excluded herself from humanity's grasp and so emptied her pockets to a man with a squint in his eye and a dirty shirt on as if he would solve her problems.
Maybe not solve them, but serve them perhaps.
The lights seemed to grow dimmer as she heard the laughter of a drunken couple playing pool, seemingly out of place as all around her sat sad, lonely little men trying to pass as much time as possible before returning home; maybe to their wives, maybe to their girlfriends or most probably to nobody. Tiffany knew the feeling all too well and sympathised with them; though she felt she should be pitied the most. Her own family would not speak to her anymore, let alone any love in her life she could ever try to meet had she the courage. Thus she ended up in the saddest rat-hole you could ever imagine and without so much as nod needed, the bartender was already at her table pouring her another drink.
Tiffany felt a cold stab as she realised her money had all but evaporated but the bartender asked for no money and turned back. It seemed he too was in a state of misery only alcohol could invite. She sighed loudly and starred into her drink once again.
"Bad day, huh?"
The voice seemed to boom in her ears like a sledge hammer, yet it was soft and filled with kindness; something she was not used to. Tiffany did not look up though, instead she continued to stir the drink with her finger, watching her reflection distort and reassemble with every flick of her wrist.
"Not much of a talker, ay? Well me neither, I mean you should see me when I'm down; you couldn't get a sound out of me even if you had managed to undress me and was parading me around Piccadilly Circus as the Toaster Queen while singing 'She's Electric' out of a microphone."
That had to be the single most weird image to describe anything Tiffany had ever heard in her life. She tried to force herself to still stay sombre but a smile crept up on her lips and she looked at the boy seated before her.
Her first impression of him was that he was actually an old man with a young voice, but then she realised he was just a teenager, only seventeen at the most, with the filthiest clothes on she had ever seen. His brown hair was half made-up in plaits that seemed to hang in an unattractively greasy style, his face looked worn and tired and his smile showed yellow teeth. Yet within all that she saw a pair of frosty green eyes like none she had ever seen before. Tiffany looked into them for a second and then focused out on his face once again. This time she saw a completely different person; a young man with a long past behind him and an uncertain one ahead, with a caring face that seemed wiser than years itself could ever try to describe. He had a lopsided smile that seemed childish at first but now it appeared to be the last of his features that would be lost in adulthood in time and so he seemed to use it a lot; as if to hold onto it with all juvenile strength.
Tiffany saw his face turn to slight confusion as she continued to stare and so she looked back down at her drink. She considered his wise face and wondered if it would be true unlike the rest of the scum she had met.
"My name is David." He said as politely as one could to somebody who was ignoring him.
Tiffany lifted her hand from her lap and raised it to let him shake it. She stopped though and instead looked back into his eyes, smiling still. "Tiffany Brownston."
"How very English." David smiled and then looked at the drink placed before Tiffany. "You can drink that stuff?"
"Every night." Tiffany's eyes darted towards the other drunks. "Without fail."
"I'm sorry." David said honestly. "I didn't know."
"Didn't know what?" Tiffany's eyes jolted back into his and demanded an answer.
"That you actually think this stuff will help." David smiled once again and Tiffany smiled back, somehow knowing David was all too familiar with her problem.
"It doesn't; in fact it makes me more miserable. Probably more so than my family ever could."
"Try weed instead." David offered.
Tiffany shook her head. "I don't do drugs."
David's eyes darted from hers to the glass she was nuzzling and had seen her leaning over sadly for many nights that week. He grabbed it from her and then gulped it down in one go. He slammed the glass down and began coughing and breathing harshly. Tiffany stared in wonderment more than anger and said nothing.
"There;" David hacked, "now, now you don't do drugs."
"How very funny. I meant illegal drugs." She watched David continue to cough. "Are you all right?"
"And..." David coughed one final time, "you're under age."
Tiffany couldn't reply to that. She knew the point he was making and had heard it before, though not as graphic as the demonstration he made a performance of. She knew alcohol wasn't going to help her; yet she had no reason to stop. Nobody would listen to her anymore so why bother?
Tiffany stared at the empty glass and then sighed. She had somebody in front of her so why not explain her actions, if even to a complete stranger?
"I take it you don't live near here then?" Tiffany asked him, suddenly feeling a wave of cowardliness. She wanted to know more of him first.
He smiled as he looked up at her and began to spin the glass on the table. "I live where I can."
"I'm sorry." Tiffany replied.
"No you're not." David grinned. "People say that to me a lot but as they say that they're thinking of their warm beds and thanking towards the sky they're not as messed up as me. There's no reason to be ashamed of it; I just know."
She was going to protest but what good would that do? He was perfectly right that people had little feelings for the homeless and tried their best to think it was their fault. Just then Tiffany had thought of David as just a dropout stoner and felt glad society hadn't lost much.
"Well then do you want money or something?" It was her time to be blunt.
David frowned for a second and shook his head. "I am not a charity case and don't treat me like one okay?"
"Then don't treat me like a rich girl you can lecture."
"I'm not here to lecture; I'm here to be the only company who cares to listen to your story that has led you amongst the lowest bitter. Now tell me."
Tiffany turned away. "Why do you care?"
"Why do you keep talking to me?" He replied without blinking.
She sighed and dug into her bag for a cigarette. Placing one in her mouth a lighter was lit before her and David smiled once again. Accepting it she inhailed deeply and sat back. She waited for him to light his own and she began to talk.
"I was moved here when my mother died of unknown causes. Unknown meaning my father beat her one too many times and the head trauma was written off as an accident. I live in a big house with house maids and a private tutor all in the effort I see little of the real world thanks to my father. I would blame him for all of my misery but his parents were the sort of Nazi generals you see in war films. He hasn't beaten me to such an extent I could go to the police with. He's a rich man and it would take a coma to convince them of any wrongdoing. What friends I do have dismiss me as a complaining spoilt brat which I would argue but I can see their point.
"So I sit in here every night, drinking what my mother taught me would ease the pain a long time ago and think up ways my life could be any worse."
David waited for her to finish before he took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked the ash carefully. "And I laughed off people saying the rich were above the law."
"Not all rich; just most." Tiffany replied. She flicked her own ash and found herself smiling. "Is this the part where you tell me it could be worse?"
"Not at all. You're life is just as bad as anybody else's I've heard in fact maybe worse because nobody will listen to your problems."
"The fate of an upper-class melancholic." Tiffany replied. She looked at his ragged clothes again. "So what's your story? Did you want to escape the rat race, or are your parents scum like my father?"
David contemplated her words for a few seconds as he tried to blow smoke rings. He stubbed out his cigarette. "If I had wanted to escape the rat race; I suppose I should have really been a part of it to start with." He excepted another cigarette and lit it. "My parents were hippies and I'm not just implying they liked the greatest hits of The Grateful Dead. They brought me up in a commune living off the land and danced in the fields while on acid. I think that was how I was conceived."
"A prefect stereotype." Tiffany grinned slyly. "Come on; what's your real story?"
David looked at her gravely. "I'm not joking."
She looked embarrassed but still amused none the less. "Oh, okay."
"As I said they were heavy drug users and it's probably the reason why I thought the acid tab I took was an aspirin. Most probably explains my hate for beetroot or any other farm vegetable that tastes of dirt for that matter. By the time I was six I was eating hash fairy cakes and going to folk feastivals which has left me scarred for life. You ever met anybody afraid of tambourines?"
Tiffany laughed along with him and suddenly realised that his life was a complete opposite to hers and yet he could tell it with a smile. Why was she so afraid of homeless people?
"Then when I turned ten the farm was raided. There had been rumours that we brainwashed local kids which I can tell you never happened unless you count the teenagers who used to set fire to our tents in the night. The amount of drugs we had was enough to convict my parents for a very long time. I was sent to a foster home but they didn't understand how different my life was. Seems the government are well aware not many liked hippie communities and so didn't tell them. They quietly told me I couldn't stay and if I didn't come back or tell anybody what they had done they wouldn't send me to juvenile for drug abuse. I was too ignorant of the law to realise that I couldn't go to juvenile because of my age and so left.
"What followed was a very scared dumb kid realising the world was not as loving as I was told. I went from town to town trying to find somewhere to settle but nowhere seemed like home. Not even the farm seemed like a real home anymore and so I've been wondering ever since. Though stealing would have been easy as I'm very good at being ignored and over turned I didn't want my karma unbalanced." He laughed bitterly. "I think my karma was the least of my problems. With my faith in humanity still strong I was beaten and mugged often by those I trusted and I suppose that's why I hate drinking so much. I tried going to homeless shelters but I never fitted in. I liked the television as I'd never watched one properly before but besides that it was pretty grim. One even tried sending me to rehab a few times from smoking weed but I told them it would be a waste of money and so they left me the only option of leaving which I gladly excepted. I started braiding people's hair for cash and play a pretty mean guitar in towns when it's summer but I never beg."
He stared at her as he said that. It seemed a deep insult for anybody to think that of him. She didn't reply and waited for him to carry on.
He sighed. "I do what I do to live and mostly that's travelling and trying to find people to trust. I make my money honestly and don't take up much space so on the whole I think my karma is as good as it could be in my position."
"It is." Tiffany replied quickly. "Better than mine anyway. You still hold faith in humanity then?"
He shrugged. "Why not? My parents were victims of their parents, my foster parents wanted a normal child to look after not some druggie, those who beat me saw my vulnerability and I've never found my true home yet. There is still good despite you don't believe it. I know there is."
She smiled and the landlord came over to fill up her drink. She stopped him and he shrugged. David looked at her confused.
"I thought you came here to forget your problems?"
Tiffany smiled at him before grabbing her bag. She stood up and waited for him to do the same. "I think we should go to Piccadilly instead. I just might find you as microphone and a crown."
He shook his head slightly in amusement and followed her outside into the cold city, taking her hand as they crossed the street, ready to experience one trully happy day in their lives.