In Deep

I climb some steps in the subway, all I can smell is the dark dank piss of the nameless, those ghosts deemed unnecessary of recognition, allowing us to pass them by, pretending they don't exist. I have my sunglasses on, I'm low on sleep, I go into the shop to buy water for my sticky mouth. The floor of the shop is covered in water. I stop and look for one of those cleaning signs. I ask the shop guy if they're closed. He says no, the floor has been waxed, sorry, it's just really really shiny. I look around, the shop is empty. I think the floor is keeping your customers away, I tell him. He nods his head despondently. I climb back up the stairs and see a note on the floor, a small piece of folded paper. In blue ink I can make out the word Lucy, followed by 0771- All I have to do is open the folds, peer inside, and I'll have another number, a lead, another path to take my life down, another track to trace and pretend it is all one big narrative. But it isn't. It is chance and happenstance, and we are the choices we make, so I choose to treat this like a story no more and walk on into the sunlight.