I drive my little silver hatchback around the city. Traffic is mad. I take long drives for inconsequential reasons.

Time to kill. I stop on the hippest street in town. All the hippies are here, all the fairies are here, all the mentally ill are here.

"Please, please, please, change, please..." The man is twisted up on the ground, crouched around himself like Gollum, thrusting a plastic cup upward. "Please, please..."

"Sorry," I mutter, guilty, "I only have plastic."

He springs from his crouch and comes along side me. "Buy me some food, please, please, buy me some food!" His teeth are wild, his eyes are wild, but he doesn't make eye contact. His cheeks are sunken. He frightens the daylights out of me.

"Sorry," I mutter, "I'm on a strict budget."

He turns away, like I cease to exist, and begins vomiting his words on two women going the other way.

"Please, please, pleeeease..."

I go have dinner at a small pub with a large open front window. I imagine him walking by, looking in, seeing my lies. I imagine him, wild eyes and wild teeth, launching through that window in a hungry fury.

I eat quickly and leave as soon as I'm finished.

~

I make loaves and loaves of bread. Trying new recipes. Foisting the results on friends.

"Take a loaf when you go," I say, escorting my friend to the front door. "Here, I insist." I shove a loaf in a plastic bag and into their hands as they laugh, but don't protest.

I honestly wouldn't care much if they threw it out when they got home. Less loaves in the house means more loaves I can make.

~

I update my contact information with the union, but I don't call them. I am anxious.

I am anxious that if I start to look for work, for real, either I will get so busy I'll get stuck here, living in my friends' spare room. That, or all my self-assurances that things would be fine after England would all prove to be lies.

I sign up for courses. I go spend a lot of money on a new Fein saw, an orbital sander, new steel toed boots.

I drive, me and my little hatchback. We drive. We are getting nowhere.

I call some apartment listings, and nobody calls me back.

I find a housing coop, perfectly situated, perfectly priced.

"Sorry," their application page reads, "not accepting applications at this time due to fire damage."

Fer fuck's sake.

.

Rosie

Before&After