Don't Lose Hope

The 13th Street Police Station was the refuge for the scum and villainy of all of Delware District, a small infamous suburb of the bigger city. J walked through the dingy roads, past the winos and piling garbage. He was surprised that his wallet could be "found" on a street like this, and admired the honesty of the citizens in this city, almost forgetting that he had been robbed barely a few hours ago.

He was hungry now. And all his money lay in the wallet. He hoped that the wallet still had money or else he was stranded in this alien city with nothing but love on his mind, a song in his heart, and hunger in his stomach.

He reached the station. A small run-down building which reflected the general theme of the area. He hesitated at the door. The wallet was his only link with Cardi and he didn't wish to lose all hope. But he was getting hungrier by the minute. Love vs. hunger. An eternal battle which soon found a victor.

He entered and introduced himself to the officer-in-charge. An hour, and a hundred formalities later he was back on the street, wallet in hand, albeit a few notes less and a smiling officer in the background.

Food bought, and a vodka drink which J decided would be enough to drown his sinking heart. Love made people feel incomplete, opening up a void, having sucked all the life out of you. He sat at the bar, stirring his vodka with a spoon. Memories of the subway in his mind, the man he had just fallen in love with and the dance of homo-erotic passion.

He looked through the wallet for the millionth time, hoping to find some clues about Cardi, but found none. The policeman hadn't been helpful, but had almost laughed at J's feeble attempts to know more about a pickpocket who dropped the wallet in front of a police-station.

And as he sat with a wallet in his hand, confused and helpless, he was struck by how the light reflected off the vodka in the glass. He looked at the light bulb above his head. He sighed at his life becoming a series of meaningless cliches. So he now had an idea. And a good one at that.

It was back to 13th Street. And a search through the filth, they call poverty. It was the only way. And it seemed the right way.

The End

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