New Apartment

It was February and Bakerloo could not wait for winter to be over. The air was dry and it crisped his skin as he walked home from work. He told Pablo, his friend, that he could not even remember the last time it was warm outside. “I feel as though more months here are cold than are warm.” Pablo shrugged. “Maybe,” he replied. “Seriously now, you have at the very least February, January, December, all the way through August. Right? August was a cold month.” Bakerloo spoke certainly with his eyes squinted into deep thought. “We ran in October, and it was cold in the morning but the heat was in full effect by the afternoon,” Pablo informed Bakerloo.

“Oh. Yes I do remember that actually. Good.” His memory often evaded him, he would say. The streets they ignored were dirty. They had been required to attend a meeting in a lesser part of town. “It’s a shame what happened to this place, you know? I can imagine the spirit here fifty years ago, people filled with hope in their newly constructed homes. Now what is it?” They continued walking. The wooden heals of their Italian leather shoes clacked with every step. The locals staring at them could not help but notice these strange passersby.

“You should come by my new apartment some time.” Pablo looked impressed. “Yep, I got a great deal from the building owners. I believe you know them, the Giordanos? They do a fair amount of business with us downtown. Anyway, the place is beautiful, truly. I’m planning on tearing down a few walls here and there to open things up. Probably will have to get rid of a lot of old wall decorations and such, but these things happen.” Bakerloo continued chatter boxing as they walked onto the metro platform. “Hey, we could go there now, what do you say?”

Pablo had to go home. He said that his wife prepared dinner and that as it stood he would already be twenty minutes late. “Well then, go have fun. Enjoy your meal!” Bakerloo smiled and waved good-bye as they boarded separate trains. His smile faded and he looked down at his hands folded between his knees. He shuddered and suddenly looked awake. Standing up slowly, he exited at the next station. No one was nearby, and the only sound was the fading screech of the train’s wheels. Looking around for a moment, Bakerloo then walked toward the metro map and began studying it.

Since he was a boy, subway systems have always intrigued him. Having lived in this city for the last five years he had every track and every station memorized by heart. At times he would stare at the map not to figure out how to get somewhere, but to take comfort in its familiarity. Seeing the colorful lines loop and cross, he thought, might show him what to do with his time.

Bakerloo, taking a moment from the map, turned around to find a young girl walking along the platform. He gave her a discerning look, as there was not a chance that her laced red dress could keep her warm in this cold. Her scarf, made of a light brown fur, hung to her side and swung with her arms as she glided past him. To Bakerloo, wearing fur was a sign of ignorance and his feelings of disgust were obviously written across his face. “I want to go home,” he caught himself saying out loud. There was an empty bench nearby. The sign on top informed him that the next train would arrive in twenty minutes. Bakerloo slumped onto the bench and leaned forward, letting his head hang down. A moment of panic stuck him as he looked around for his new, custom made, leather French briefcase. It was no where to be found. Bakerloo leaned back and sighed deeply. Shaking his head he mumbled, “whatever.”