27s.
27-year-old Adam Friedland hasn't been in NYC long, but he hates his fucking job. Good thing there's a cute, shitbag bodega guy who has the worst coffee in the city to brighten his day. (I didn’t edit this. Oops.)
Rating: T (it will change, leave me alone.)
Word count: 1,896
Chapter: 1/?
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Fun fact: little Adam took more photos of Nick in 2014 than himself.
One:
Adam honestly missed D.C. Okay, that was a lie - he just missed his old job. The one he currently had in NYC sucked dick. He gave up a boring 9-5 at a law firm for some BuzzFeed rip-off with wack hours and a shitty boss - who had a fucking sign on her desk that literally said Girl Boss. Disgusting. At least his boring job had weekends off and didn’t have shit he had to take home. The pay was alright. Fuck - it had to be. They were a company that “cares deeply about the well-being of their staff,” but refused to have nice hours and good health insurance.
Rotating weekends and editing videos titled “Romantising Your Life” wasn’t something he thought he’d be doing at 27. But neither was living in an almost windowless, 240-square-foot apartment in Astoria with a dying fern. He had to be clocked in at 7 am, which meant he had to get up at 5 if he wanted to take the N to East Village. By the time he got home at 5 pm, he was too fucking tired to do anything. He was starting to think that not getting a roommate was a bad idea. That would have given him an excuse to at least talk to someone. Fuck - His job was a succubus who took all his time instead of his cum. What a ridiculous way to end your 20s.
Same shit, different day, only new thing was Adam wanting to mix up where he got shitty bodega coffee before his shift. The dull yellow storefront with a faded red sign that read GROCE Y & D LI looked promising. A little bell chimed above his head as he slinked his way in. There were a couple of people ahead of him, so Adam allowed himself to space out. His eyes burned from sleep as he stared hard at the cigarettes behind the counter, half out of his mind, debating whether to start up the bad habit again. Fuck his job for making him want to smoke. He’d been craving a cigarette since last week when he had to edit a video called “This $5 Fried Chicken Sandwich Will Change Your Life Forever.”
"You gonna buy something or you just doing inventory?" Adam's head snapped to the guy behind the counter - clipboard in his hand, pulling out scratch-off tickets enough to see something and write some shit down. The guy had a half-amused, half-annoyed look on his face as he pretended to focus on the clipboard rather than on Adam watching him.
"Sorry," because he couldn’t help himself. He had never been good at confrontation, and the sharp, amused look the worker gave him made Adam uncomfortable, so he looked anywhere else but at him, an awkward blush already starting on his face. "I don't- I don't actually smoke. Anymore, I guess."
"When you get over your crisis, let me know. I'll grab some for you." The slanted name tag read NICK in letters that looked as if they were handwritten by someone having a stroke. Adam stared at the Marlboros, but his eyes wandered back to the guy every time he heard the pull of the lotto ticket roll. He was his age, or close to it, hollowed-out cheeks, dark circles under his eyes, and a cigarette behind his ear. He wore a black sweatshirt, but had his sleeves rolled up, and Adam was really starting to hate how much he was gawking at the man. Fuck, how long had he been staring? Fuck. Ok gotta decide quick-
“I’ll get 27s. Screw it.” Didn’t you come in for coffee?
“Great choice,” He said flatly, reaching behind him to grab the white and gold box that’s been living in Adam’s dreams. “That it?” Adam mumbled out a ‘hmm huh,’ pissed that he was spending the last bit of his change on smokes he didn’t need instead of caffeine. Maybe he should have gotten a single, maybe Deana got the coffee pot going at work, maybe Adam should drop everything and move back home. Maybe he shouldn’t have fumbled with his wallet, because quarters fell out onto the linoleum with a clink. Nick didn’t move, even as some rolled under the register, just watching Adam with exhausted patience. “Smooth,” he said, putting down his clipboard to reach for the crumbled bills in Adam’s hand. He didn’t even count it, just shoved them in the register with mechanical movement. Red dusted his cheeks as he tried to avoid Nick’s amused look. “You want your 10 cents or you donating to the cause?”
“What cause?” Adam asked, taking his smokes. His fingers touching Nick’s did his blush no favors.
“Me getting an Uber tomorrow instead of taking the train,” Nick’s mouth twitched in an almost-smile. “Fucking N line at five in the morning is a war crime.”
“You take the N?” He immediately hated how eager he sounded. “I mean- I take it too. To the Village. For work.” Nick leaned back against the shelf of blunt wraps behind him, crossing his arms over his chest, clipboard and inventory forgotten.
“Yeah? Where at?” Adam had a feeling that whatever look Nick was giving him was judgment. Adam noticed his eyes trail over him, and he almost felt stupid in his khaki pants and brown flannel.
“Uh.” He hesitated, not wanting to say it. Saying it made it real, and his real life was cringe. “It’s-“ Adam couldn’t help the small awkward laugh. “It’s like a media company.” Adam picked at the plastic wrapping on the smoke box to avoid Nick staring holes in him. “We do uh. Videos and stuff.” Nick’s eyebrows raised, and the corner of his mouth tugged into a small smile. Adam seriously wanted to die. Another reason to hate his job- it was embarrassing to admit to.
“Like Vine shit?”
“No,” Adam said too fast. “I mean-yeah, kind of. Sometimes. But we do longer ones too and articles. It’s…It’s stupid.”
“Everything’s stupid.” Honestly, that should have been comforting, but it wasn't. Nick adjusted the cigarette behind his ear. “You said you quit, right? The smoking?” Adam looked at the box half-open in his hand. A commitment now.
“Yeah. I mean, I was trying to.”
“Relatable.” Nick picked up his clipboard, probably just to do something with his hands. “I quit every Tuesday. It lasts until Thursday- sometimes ‘till Friday if I’m feeling like a hero.”
“What’s today?” he knew, but he didn’t want to stop talking. Something about Nick was interesting, or maybe he just didn’t want to go into work that bad. Who really knew at this point?
“Wednesday. So I’m due.” Nick said, tapping the pen against the clipboard. Adam didn’t want to ask how quitting was going- judging by the one in his ear. Honestly, he should have left. It had to be pushing 6:45, and the train was twenty minutes. He had to make it to work so he could edit that stupid video about “Five Ways to Curate Your Morning Routine” or some shit that made him want to put his head through the monitor. But he didn’t move. It was almost like his feet were glued to the floor.
“You been working here long?” Adam asked. He hated himself a little for asking. It sounded like a line. It wasn’t a line. He was just - curious. About the bodega guy. Fuck. Nick looked at him, eyes tired and sharp.
“Why? You writing an article? ‘The Secret Life of the Slightly Above Minimum Wage?’” Nick wore a small grin that looked like he was trying to hide.
“No,” Adam said, laughing a little despite feeling nervous still for some weird fucking reason. “I just - you seem like you’re good at it.” Smooth. So smooth.
“Yeah, I’m basically CEO,” Nick said, deadpan. “Mom’s gonna be so proud when I tell her I finally made something out of myself.” The little shit-eating smile Nick gave him with his dead eyes made Adam smile back. Fuck. Nick tapped his cheap pen on the edge of his clipboard again as the doorbell chimed behind Adam. Adam watched Nick’s eyes follow whoever came in before settling back onto him. “So what do you actually do? At the-what did you call it? Media company? Do you write?”
“I edit,” Adam said with a shrug. “Videos mostly. Sometimes I write, but they don’t-” he stopped. Holy fuck was he complaining about his job to a stranger at seven in the morning? My god. “It’s just bullshit. You know. Millennial content farm stuff.”’
“Uh huh. And you went to school for this?”
“No- uh.” Shit, he was blushing again. “I was at a law firm in D.C before this.” Nick let out a quick laugh, pushing himself off the wall and stepping one foot closer.
“Lawyer to Buzzfeed. That’s real trajectory.”
“I wasn’t a lawyer.” Adam peeled the rest of the plastic off and popped the carton open. “I just- worked there. Administrative stuff. It was boring.” He pulled off the golden wrapper inside and stuffed the trash in his pocket, flipping the third to the left as a lucky. When he looked back up, Nick was eyeing him over, curiosity all over his face.
“And this isn’t?” A fridge door shut loudly beside them, as Adam just stared at Nick for a second.
“This is different.” He meant it. It was different. New York wasn’t anything like D.C. The days he missed home were the days he missed not paying rent. The days he missed his old job were the days his boss told him the video he spent hours editing was “too straight man” coded. How the fuck was that even his fault?
“Yeah,” Nick agreed. “Different kind of boring. I get it.” The customer who came in earlier shuffled up to the counter, but Nick didn’t look at him- he just held up one finger to him as he met Adam’s gaze.
“You gonna make this a habit? Smoking? I can start setting them aside. Save you from the crisis.” Adam’s heart did something stupid, but he ignored it.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I might quit tomorrow,” he said with a smile. The whole time he’s been living in New York, Adam hasn’t smiled this much. It was weird. He kind of hated it.
“Respecable.” Nick finally looked away and at the man behind Adam for a second before settling back onto him. “I’m here most mornings. Six to two if you need-” he gestured towards the smokes still in his hand, at the store, at nothing. “-Whatever.”
“Thanks.” Adam’s feet shuffled towards the exit, hitting the door with his shoulder. “See you around.”
“Yeah. Anytime.” Nick gave him a small smile before scanning up the guy's sweet tea and Bugles. His face still felt hot when he pushed himself out onto the sidewalk. The air smelled like garbage and fall, and he was definitely going to be late. He didn’t smoke any on the walk to the train. He waited until he could escape his desk - after Deana made coffee in the break room, of course - Outside in the alley beside his shit job, all he could think about was the hollowed-out guy with a cig in his ear who looked at him like they were friends already.
He smoked three before noon.
