It was cold. I think, the weather affects a lot of things, so every morning, I stick my head out of the window and record the weather. It was cold. I threw on a hoodie and jeans. The jeans didn't really fit, but I didn't care. The hoodie was my university one, the college I didn't go to anymore. Oops. I grabbed my phone off of the counter and walked to the coffee shop for breakfast. I was, contrary to popular belief, not touring around Europe with my sister. She met up with her boyfriend in Italy (I didn't think she had an Italian boyfriend, but she does. A real, live, palpable one.) and left little old me in an apartment in London. I work at a video production company and work every other Sunday night at a radio station. I get a bit of money. I live. In the coffee shop, there are zero people, except for one cook and Ashley, the barista. Ashley has a wispy black bob and straight across bangs. Ashley is very pale and used to have pink armpit hair. She's a little weird in the fashion world. She has on a beanie, glasses, a pink sundress, lace tights that strippers usually wear, pink flats for little girls, and a black fur coat. Sometimes I think she just rolls around in the stuff at fashion shows and pops up, ready for work. Ashley knows what I want, and she brings it out to me, only this time, the tea bag doesn't have a normal label on it. Her phone number. How typical. I called it. "Hello, Ashley." "Hi Carson." she answered from about five feet away. "I have a girlfriend." "The New York one?" "Sometimes I want to go out with you, and sometimes you're kind of a douchebag." "Okay." "You still haven't said anything to her? You haven't called her?" "She's out in the wilderness being an intern." "How do you know that? You don't know, the show could've been canceled." I guess I hadn't seen it on air. Huh. "I say you fly to New York and talk to her. Maybe even frick her." "Why don't you just say fuck?" "Shut up, Carson. You're going to get me fired." "If they fire you, the place goes out of business." She rolled her eyes. "New York, Carson. You have to go to New York. And express your love. 'Alyson, I am a stupid boy and I am a twat but I still love you please frick me.'" "You know how to shut me up." "It's my pride and joy." I took my things and hopped on a train. I needed to think. It was an expensive plain ticket, and I didn't have any money. Why didn't I just go out with Ashley and stay in London and forget everything I did in New York? New York sucked. I got lied to, and probably cheated on, and definitely depressed. Even though I was paler, and thinner, and noticeably more emo-looking, I was not as sad. I think, maybe, I'd be more sad if I went back to New York. I pulled out a cigarette and puffed it at the train station. There was an artificial redhead standing next to me, and I had a slight, slight urge to kiss her, for some reason. She was pushing a baby in a stroller. She was eating a sandwich. In the other hand, she held a cigarette. I decided not to. I threw the cancer stick away and hopped on the train. It was not at all crowded and not at all noisy. It was perfect for thinking. There was an old woman, and a tourist-looking couple, and the artificial redhead. Four stories. Five, but babies can't talk. I said hi to the ginger. We talked. The baby laughed. We talked. She was a lesbian, she was raped, and the baby's name was Theo. Her girlfriend lived in Santa Monica, working as a model. She was saving up to visit her. Also, to get a tattoo on her ribcage. She wanted it so the baby couldn't see. She was wanting a nose piercing, but she didn't want to come off as scary. She said Theo thought her hair was food. I thought that was kind of adorable. She was twenty three. She got off at the next stop. I didn't share my story with her. I didn't have a lot to tell. I was also glad I did not kiss her. The train kept going, and I was the only one on my car. I laid on the floor, thinking. I zoned everything out. I thought and thought and thought. Sometimes, I think, maybe I shouldn't have zoned everything out. Maybe I would've heard the sirens. Maybe I would've seen the train coming towards us. But that doesn't matter anymore. It's over. I'm Carson. I'm 20. I am dead.
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