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...
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Before Miranda Israel was alive, she always wanted to be a dancer. Her blonde hair would bask in the sunlight. Deep green eyes studied the wistful smile on Jacob's face as Miranda brushes her hands against his wrinkled cheeks. Their day was perfect; no interruptions, no drama — just the two of them listening to jazz. But when Miranda passed away from HIV, a part of Jacob died with her.
After setting the photo of Miranda on a nearby coffee table, Jacob takes a deep breath and blows out the wind through his thin nose. The delicate glass absorbs the rich moonlight as it shines on the satin white blanket. Sighing some more, Jacob fastens the sheet into a strong noose. Next, he ties the other end around the ceiling fan. Last but not least, Jacob musters the courage to put his head through the necklace and stand on the couch.
Grayish-brown eyes watered. He wanted to back out, but his heart ached for the warmth of Miranda's embrace one more time. Jacob wipes the tears leaking from his eyes as he stands on the couch.
He makes sure he secures the necklace before he jumps on the carpet floor. Unfortunately, it didn't work. The blanket isn't strong enough to hold him, so Jacob had to untie the noose before he hits the ground. Loud creaks sent pain through his sharp eardrums. White dandruff shower on his hairy feet, like snow. His face turns bright scarlet until his crooked fingers loosen the chain before he collapses on the couch.
Jacob coughed loudly. He rubs the bruise around his neck and starts untying the blanket from the ceiling fan until a loud knock came on the door. Jacob flinched. He has expected no visitors lately. He bets its one of those Girl Scouts who wouldn't stop shoving boxes of Thin Mints in his face.
"I am not interested in your cookies!" he shouts.
The knock continued, irritating Jacob. He hurries over to the door and opens it to see his teenage daughter Therese smiling at him. She wears a brown beanie with a faded white t-shirt and a blue plaid dress. Covering her naked arms is a long brown coat. Her navy blue socks stretch underneath her bare kneecaps.
"Hey, Dad!" she beamed. "How are you doing?"
Jacob puts on a nervous grin. "I am doing fine, honey. Why don't you come inside?"
Therese drops her red Chloé Paddington handbag near the doorway, strides towards the couch, and sits down. She doesn't acknowledge the white crumbs or the wrinkled blanket on the floor. Yet the only thing that is bothering her is that crooked ceiling fan.
"Was it always this tilted?" Therese asks him.
"Yeah." lied Jacob.
"I can buy you a new one."
"No, it's fine."
"Are you sure?" Therese drapes one leg over the other and examines her father's fake smile. "It looks like could fall at any minute."
Jacob slowly rises from the couch. He inspects the fan and studies it for a moment before he scratches his head.
She's right, Jacob thought. Maybe I should call a repairman or something.
