Chapter One

I took out the rusted keys from the pocket of the black peacoat my mother got me for Christmas a week ago. I sighed as I looked at the chipping paint on my apartment door, knowing I couldn’t even afford new paint. I unlocked my door and pushed on it. Damn it. It’s stuck again. I put all my weight on the door. It finally gave in. I threw my brown leather messenger bag on the dresser and collapsed on my gradually sinking beige couch, exhausted from a long day’s work at the law office. You would think I would be getting paid more for working at a law office. One of the richest in New York City in fact. But I am not a lawyer. I never even planned to, but after I escaped college with a degree in Pre-Law, finding nothing else that inspired me, I applied for an internship at the Fordman firm and was accepted, along with nine other students. So, in long and short of it, I get paid just enough to afford an apartment in the dumps of NYC and…well, that’s about it. And I spend ten hours a day drudging around coffee for different people, maybe getting to visit the prison to take notes furiously, copying down everything that is being said. That is not to say I don’t appreciate the oppurtunity. I am sure other people would be happy to swipe up my job in a split second, but the truth is, this job is temporary. I am still waiting for something that inspires me. And as cliche as it sounds, I am waiting for something to give me the chance to truly change lives. And not in the way of providing a caffeine booster for a millionare in the morning.

I find my way to the closet sized bedroom that has pencil skirts and blouses from outlets sprawled across the bed….and most of the floor. I strip down and hop into an icy shower. I can only afford a five minute shower a day…I did the math…., so I wrapped a towel around my knotted hair and dried off. I pulled on my Bowdoin college tshirt and yoga pants that somehow found themselves under my bed. Having no heat in NYC on a cold December night is not the ideal situation, so I rummage around until I can find my favorite wool cardigan. Finally warm enough, I head to what some might call a kitchen and pour myself a glass of cheap red wine. You know the kind. The one in the aisle of the grocery store where it is stored with the Coke and Pepsi. It still eases my mind nonetheless. I sit down on what I call my bubble chair by the window (it almost feels as though you are floating above the ground). It is the one thing I saved up for for months….it was worth it. I pulled out my laptop and opened PenIt. Yes, I have a blog. Apparently, as an intern at Fordman lawfirm we are not allowed to post personal information online. So I keep it anonymous. But it helps just the same. It helps me feel connected with the rest of the world while my life is a whirlwind of cappucinos and white chocolate mochas made from an over-priced Italian coffeemaker.

 

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