Apt. 502

A beam of moonlight cut through the window into her room. She could hear a car drive past on the street below, sounding their horn and could hear drunks laughing and shouting merrily on their way home from the bar. The clock showed 3AM. It was snowing out, flakes drifted down from the heavens, settling on bus stop benches, on parking meters, on the cities honking cars and stumbling drunks. Usually she found these sounds comforting, like she wasn’t totally alone in the world, but tonight was different. She took a box of Lucky Strikes from beside herself on the bed and took a cigarette from the crumpled packet with her lips. She searched on her blanket for her lighter and found it hidden under a stuffed animal. It was a pitiful specimen, missing a button eye and had several tears where the stuffing was escaping from. Cotton wool intestines oozing from fabric skin. She sighed and lit the cigarette with shaky hands. She was so wired lately. Work was slow and the streets were a lot harder in the winter. She inhaled deeply, sucking rich smoke into her blackened lungs. It wouldn’t surprise her if she was diagnosed with cancer in the next ten years. A two pack a day habit. Plus the same thing had killed her Mom. She was only seventeen at the time and remembered looking down into the casket at the funeral. Her Mother looked so different then, to be honest she looked healthier. She shook the memory from her head and exhaled, blowing a cloud of thick white smoke into the air. She wished she still had some of her bottle of spirits left. ‘Nothing like spirits to raise the spirits’ Her mother used to say. Another car passed on the street below. Some low life doing something undesirable. They all were around these parts. “It takes one to know one,” something else her mother would say. How she longed to escape from this life. From the filth and violence of the street. From the groping hands of strangers on her bare skin, their whiskey-breath and stubble on her lips. Their disease ridden penises inside of her. She wanted to feel love, she wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man who actually gave two shits about her, to make love instead of being fucked. To wake in the morning happy, to sunshine beaming through the curtains and the smell of a cooked breakfast drifting from the kitchen. She wanted to know what it felt like to look into the bathroom mirror and not hate to death what stared back. She wanted to know how it felt like to want to live and not to die.