In the year 2002, four twenty-something-year-olds attempt to navigate their surroundings in New York City while getting drawn into a culture of drugs, glamor, and violence.
At the same time, an old bookstore clerk struggles to overcome grief, until...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
After dropping Matt and Callie at their flat, Holden navigates through New York's clustered streets to find Paige's apartment. According to Leah, her flat shouldn't be too far; the trip between Brooklyn and Queens is at least six miles. Unfortunately, thanks to the traffic, Holden is having trouble driving to Leah's place.
Kaleidoscope lights and car exhaust gave Leah a headache. She tries to sleep, but it's like someone had cranked the stereo to maximum volume. Not to mention Paige hates it whenever she comes home tardily.
"Jesus fucking Christ." Leah groans. "I need some aspirin."
Holden gives her a sad frown. "You okay?"
"Nope." Leah sighs, rubbing her sore forehead.
Reaching a stoplight, Holden hampers the car to put on some music. Since Leah loves Stone Temple Pilots Holden played her favorite song "Creep" while he waits for the lights to turn green.
Despite her headache, Leah rocks her head to the beat until she feels tired. Reddish-brown curls slap her acne-ridden face; her blue eyes linger at the fog emerging on the windshield until Holden turns on the wipers.
"Thanks a lot for driving me home," she yawns.
Holden gives her a warm smile. "No problem. I just hope Paige doesn't mind."
"Seriously?" Leah snickers. "Paige thinks you are a saint."
Holden chuckles. He grips him around the steering wheel then speeds up underneath the fluorescent green lights. Feeling intrusive, Leah asks Holden what he was laughing about.
"Nothing," Holden replies. "It's just that I am surprised your girlfriend is a journalist."
Leah shrugs her shoulders. "Yeah, so?"
"I don't know, I kind of pictured Paige as more of a rebel." he went on. "Like the type who would swear at pigeons and wear a shit ton of black leather and old combat boots."
Offended, Leah punches him in the left shoulder.
"Ow!" Holden groans. "What the hell was that for?"
"Just because I used to be in a punk band doesn't mean I am into bad girls." Leah snorts. "Fuck, I don't even care if the person I am dating has a dick or not."
"Really?"
"Yeah, as long as they give a crap about me."
Dismissing the sharp pain in his shoulder, Holden changes course. He turns to the right and continues heading down Main Street. The frigid current of air sneaks inside the downtrodden Dodge Caravan. Small goosebumps rose on her bare arms; Leah covers her arms with her long, dark sleeves when a loud beeping sound alerts her.
"Sorry." Holden chuckles. "It's my phone."
"Is it your boss, again?"
"No, she's probably asleep," Holden replies. "Maybe it's from my sister. I'll check and see what's going on with her."
