NY I Love You

There was this idea that in America you can find whatever you want: love, money, a love of money… anything. I never believed it until I went there. Then I believed it for about half an hour and then I got robbed.

Someone else believed it more than me I guess. That was my first half hour in America and it was shit. I knew gun crime existed, I didn’t realise it was quite so efficient, though.

It was raining too.

I ducked into a cafe and bought a hot chocolate with the small amount of coins and notes that Guncrime had neglected to free me of and sat down to have a think.

I couldn’t think of anything though aside from how stupid I was for coming. Or about how wet I was. Or about how stupid I was for coming. My brain was in shock.

I sat there for maybe forty five minutes nursing my hot chocolate. The waitress could sense the cloud of a recent robbery above me so she just let me be, even topped up my drink for me.

I was just about to start thinking of how to go about getting some money when She walked in like the first idea of summer anyone ever had.

Somehow she was wearing a flowery dress that flowed around her like grass in a breeze and wasn’t soaked to the skin, not even a little. I looked outside to see, suddenly, that it had brightened up out there. Anyone looking at me now would think I had fallen in a pool; there was no way I was the child of any weather going on outside.

She was blonde, with tan skin that suited her, the dress, this room and probably the world, perfectly.

Her face, which I hadn’t actually seen yet ordered a drink at the counter, paid and then sat its slender form down at my table.

‘Hi’.