𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝙷𝙴𝚁࿐ ྂ ᴊᴇꜰꜰ ʙᴜᴄᴋʟᴇʏ

ᴏɴᴇ

FEBRUARY 27th, 1990
NYC .ೃ࿐

THE SKY WAS A SLATE GREY.
Wind battered the sides of buildings and howled against windows. Polly Maureen hurried as she crossed the street, a taxi driver smashed down his horn at the girl. Her cigarette butt sizzled as it died in a small puddle. Cornelia Street Cafe was something of an oasis in this weather, and Polly felt a wave of relief and artificial heat wash over her as she stepped into the cafè. The faded red apron she tied hastily on clashed terribly with last nights mascara and her light blue sweater.

The crackle of radio chatter and the tinny doorbell ringing soon filled her ears, and the restaurant slowly became busier. As she gazed up from the Expresso machine, she caught glimpse of an unmistakable head of curls behind an unfamiliar man-
Brooke.

Brooke Smith and Polly had become fast friends in the past years, due to all her visits to Cornelia's, and their shared love for film, although they resided on separate sides of the camera.

A cheerful and rosy-cheeked Brooke made her way to the coffee bar, the unfamiliar man trailing her. She sat, beckoning for him to join her. He offered Polly a small smile as Brooke introduced them.

Jeff, the man, was wearing baggy jeans and a flannel, and Polly wondered how he hadn't yet frozen to death. He ordered coffee in a soft voice, and chose to observe the shop rather than join in as his new roommate engaged in random conversation with her old friend.

She was pretty, Jeff thought. He stole glances at her and noticed the tired shade of pink that accompanied her crystalline blue eyes. Polly had a late night, he supposed.

Polly stole glances at Jeff as well, and each time he'd be staring off into nothing, like he was trying to see what was on the other side of the wall. He didn't speak much and when he did it was with a small joke or compliment about his coffee.

Brooke had ultimately convinced Polly to come to her apartment, (which was now Jeff's as well,) after her shift ended for what Brooke had called 'welcoming' Jeff to the neighborhood. But, really it'd just be listening to scratchy records and drinking. Which didn't sound all that bad to Polly.

A pieced together melody rattled around Polly's mind while she hung up her apron and put her coat on once more. The sun had now broken through the gray, yet cold air still nipped against her cheeks. Her legs began to ache as she climbed the stairs to the fourth floor of the apartment building, and welcomed herself inside Brookes cramped apartment.

It was a tiny two-bedroom place, everything out of order and plastered with posters and old pictures. It seemed to be permanently scented by incense and dried flowers. The sofa was a light brown adorned with many throw pillows and blankets. Next to it, sat an open box which had 'Jeff's Records' scrawled messily in black letters. Polly could only see a rather beat up copy of Led Zeppelin II, and knew that the rest of his collection had to be alright. Leaning on the opposite wall was a guitar case, which was decorated with many dents, scratches, and peeling stickers.

"You like Zeppelin?" To her right, Jeff was in the kitchen, long hair even messier than before, he had lost the flannel and was now sporting a Sex Pistols shirt.

"I think everyone does," she glanced between the man and the well loved record.

"True." He said simply, grabbing the guitar case. He disappeared down the short hall to what Polly assumed was his room, and soon soft guitar playing filled the flat.

Brooke was sat on her minuscule balcony, in an old wicker chair while she laid her legs on the brick barrier.

Polly pulled her coat tighter and climbed onto the balcony, "you're crazy."