NYC

NYC

It was the last place he wanted to be, and probably the last place anyone would expect to find him- and he wished they would.

New York City, to Noah's opinion, was not a kind location. Already he'd had to stand in customer service for a few hours to get his luggage, politely asking for the location of the nearest hotel afterwards, only to be met with a griping old man that pointed his finger to the doors outside, acting as if he were the stupidest creature on earth for having a strange accent. As if to accentuate his problems, the weather began taking a turn for the worst. What began as a light sprinkle eventually turned into such a frenzy of rain that the busy people of the city began talking of sleet and snow.

"Watcha here for, sir?" asked the taxi driver after a moment of silence as Noah sat quietly in the back seat, rubbing his eyes.

"Work. M'boss wants me ta supervise some buildin' out here."

"A Southern guy?!" the driver asked, laughing, "Not often I get a guy in boots in my taxi... Is this weather killing you?"

He glanced out the window, leaning with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hand, ignoring the fact that he should be wearing a seatbelt. That seemed to be the last of his worries. "Yup. I got to gettin' in that lobby, seen the dang weather report... Just 'bout chilled me to the bone."

It seemed to do more than that. By the time he arrived at his hotel room, his knees- knowingly the worst part of his body, thanks to inheritance- throbbed and stung, like needles in his skin slipping under the kneecap. Freezing temperatures always made it worse, and a cold front from the north that was sweeping over the city did not please him in the slightest. And it pained him, not only physically but mentally.

Eventually, he made his way into his hotel, only to find himself stuffed in a small room facing what seemed to be the brightest lights of the city. Even when he pulled the curtains closed, dim lights of yellow and red shone through like the eyes of demons. Despair wasn't something that followed Noah around, at least not often, but he was feeling it now. Something about this crowded city, something about the sky, the shouting, the screaming, the honking of hours drove him absolutely insane.

Above him in the room upstairs he could hear the screaming of a couple, their footsteps echoing, breaking the silence of his room. With a push on the remote, the sound of commercials filled the air, but nothing seemed to block the noise.

"-the new and improved-"

How could something be both new and improved? Pondering this, Noah made his way to the bathroom, flicking on the light switch and staring at his own tired face. He turned on the faucet, cupping his hands under it to collect some water, and attempted to wash his face. Whether it was to cleanse it or just to wake himself up, he wasn't sure, but he knew the latter wouldn't happen. As tired as he was, as much as he wanted to sleep, his head throbbed with a desire to stay awake. It wasn't safe.

A few minutes later, the man was stripped of all clothing but a pair of boxers, collapsed on the bed, all the lights in the room off except the glow of the television.

"-and coming up next is the an old movie most-"

For a moment, he sat there and daydreamed. Daydreamed of a large, white house with green shutters, a large wraparound porch surrounding it like a fence. He imagined fields around it, wheat and corn stretching for miles under an endless blue sky, clouds dotting here and there, occasionally gaining the quick opportunity of blocking out the sun. There was a faint breeze in his dream world, light and barely a whisper, though a mockingbird sitting on the branch of a tree next to the house made a few sweet songs. And there was Noah, smack dab in the middle of that vision, climbing the steps of the porch and settling himself down in a rocking chair, his own eyes gazing over the land before him. Not a neighbor for miles. All bright, all beautiful, all spacious, fresh.

"-Lassie Come Home-"

His eyes cast downward for a second, staring at the screen through the space between his feet, groaning to himself. Come home? He wished he could.