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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At around 6:00 p.m., Leah locks the front door to the restaurant then tucks the silver keys inside her pocket. Leah's eyelids droop. Warm skin quakes in the chilly breeze. Grasping the straps of her red JanSport bookbag, Leah trudges towards her godfather's police car. Seeing her approach the vehicle, Charlie unlocks the doors to allow Leah to sit in the front.
"Hey, Leah." he welcomes as she enters the car.
Leah tosses her backpack on the floor, sits on the chair, then buckles her seatbelt.
"Hey," Leah yawned. "Where is your lackey?"
"He went home," Charlie responds. "So, how was work?"
"Hell."
"Really?" Charlie adjusts his head to look at his miserable goddaughter. "How come?"
She stretches her arms and releases another yawn. "You know in that Disney movie Lion King where Simba gets trampled by a pack of wild buffalos?"
Charlie's smile widens like a goofy child. "Yeah. I remember when you were eight, you wouldn't stop crying about that scene."
"Charlie!"
"What? It's true!" he laughed. "Anyway, what were you saying?"
"Well, my job is like that." Leah grunts. "Except for the shocking plot twist."
Leah smoothes her brown, long-sleeved shirt with dark gray stripes. Her bellbottom pants are too big for her legs, but her black belt prevents them from going down her ankles. After lacing her military boots, Leah asks Charlie if he got some action at his job.
"Yeah." Charlie nods. "Oliver and I were chasing a stolen car, but we had to let them go."
"Why?" asked Leah.
"If I pursued them," he began. "Then I would infringe someone's case. Also, we needed to drop some punk at the police station."
"Ugh, seriously?"
"What? It's true!" Charlie chortles. "And besides, we were running out of gas."
Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, an irritated Leah asks when is he going to stop being doubtful.
"You used to tell me tons of stories about how you saved kids from a psychotic school shooter," she reminds him. "You even stopped a robbery three times. What the hell happened to you?"
Charlie expresses a sigh. "No one cares about what I do anymore."
"Oh, come on," Leah snorts. "That's not true. You used to be a legend—"
"No one cares about legends anymore, Leah." the cop states as he starts the car.
After backing out of the parking lot and drives Leah over to Scott's place. Silence flourishes like a toxic cloud, suffocating Leah and Charlie by its touch. A small thread swings from Leah's dark green corduroy jacket.
