I sulked down 5th Ave, my daily dose of depression hanging over me like an umbrella. All Holden Caulfield and shit.

I didn’t look up, but I pictured skyscrapers reaching to the heavens of capital by my side, the smell of cigarettes and greasy $2 fries, while the fresh rain all the way from the lakes of Upstate New York would patter against my umbrella. But then, I arrived at my destination, closed my umbrella, and let the real world fall into view. Allenburg, West Virginia. Population: 356 sad country bums and me, now at the Old Maid, the only bar for 32 miles of winding mountainous roads. Fuck.

I exile myself to a town with only 5 rows of streets for some spiritual awakening or perspective on life. I guess I did it because I hate myself. Or at least a version of myself, one I’m trying to shed.

It took me two trains, a bus, and a walk to 481 Broad St. to find out that I don’t have an aunt who lives here. She moved away years ago, and it suddenly seemed conceited to expect a foreign family member to take me in, life-crisis and all. I cut all ties with my family when I moved to New York, and for good reasons. They all said a career couldn’t go anywhere, that being a walking, talking mannequin doesn’t pay the bills. It didn’t matter that they were right because I figured it out myself. And I liked learning the lesson that way. I’m best friends with spite.

Anyway, my money ran out by Cumberland and I was running on fumes the rest of the way. I’m used to being able to bribe with my body back in New York, but I learned quickly that it doesn’t happen here. Not only since I’m not a woman, but there’s the ever-looming presence of God watching here through these people. I get a kick out of the presumption they have.

But I had a sneaking suspicion coming into town. There had to be some boys with secrets or girls who aren’t children of God but were willing to be a little friendly. To get me out of this place. And as I enter the Old Maid, heads turn. But I don’t think it’s my clothes or even my looks. It’s not attraction, it’s disgust. I’m an outsider. I’m a threat. But as the rest turn back to each other to spread the newest bit of gossip in town, one pair of eyes linger. I head towards their owner, my prey, running my hand through my carefully cut hair to introduce myself to him.