Jordan Stijl had been living there for three months and as of yet had still not met anyone, made any friends, even at work. He washed dishes in a little Vietnamese restaurant, and hated it, just hated being dirty and wet all day; his hands were falling apart. He walked home every day and sat around losing his mind, reading book after book, or he'd walk around the neighborhood and never meet anyone, because there was no one to meet. Being isolated in a big city is worse than living in a small city, here, there was no one and no one cared who he was or what he did. He was anonymous, just a spectre haunting the streets, haunting the high ceilings of his converted warehouse apartment. He watched nothing.
Jordan sometimes wondered why he'd ever left home, left his people, and sometimes knew that a man has to make his own way, or a boyish man has to make his own way, or a boy has to make his own way...any way, he still had to make it himself. The night of his 21st birthday he went in to a little liquor store by the restaurant and bought a beer. Jordan walked home reading the label of the expensive beer, and drank it sitting at his desk and Jordan thought it was pretty good. Now he drank vodka on his morning walks to work.
He had elaborate fantasies in his head before he moved. He thought of all the people he'd meet, the parties he'd go to. Parties where he'd drink expensive 25 year old scotch and smoke cigars, or parties where he'd drink good beer from kegs and smoke cigarettes on large patios with pretty girls and gay guys.
He fantasized about walking down the street, someone coming up and saying,
"I need you in my film." And he'd be a famous actor, almost overnight, and have money and travel around, go to even fancier parties with more expensive liquor and prettier girls and gayer gay giuys.
He'd fantasized about meeting a girl, with dark hair who wore stripes. She was artistic and clever, and liked a lot of the same music he did. She said intelligent things and was witty, they met somewhere like a coffee shop, but not for drinking coffee which neither of them did, but to see some little acoustic performance of someone who probably would never be famous, and they'd talked and walked around the neighborhood, and made it to his nice apartment, and then he walked her back to her car and she drove home. She called him the next day and drove over to hang out with him. Things started slow, they dated casually for a few weeks, she introduced him to her friends, who liked him, and one of them had a crush on him or he on her, but he liked the first girl most. So he didn't do anything with her friend, and they had their first kiss under a streetlight in front of his apartment, and then she'd come in and they drank a little and kissed a little. They would go to the little indie shows and drive around in her nice car. And she'd pay for things and like doing it, it was her dad's money anyway. He'd always be grateful and say he'd have more money soon, and would take her out to dinner sometimes on his dime, and she'd love it, because she knew he was broke. And they would take little weekend trips around the state and see beautiful things and have a lot of fun. It's that easy to fall in love, she would say it to him first and he'd realize that he loved her too.
Or maybe she was a blonde, an actress probably, not famous, of course. They'd meet at a little party somewhere near downtown and it would be brief and as she was leaving he'd chase her and from a balconey ask her for her phone number and she'd give it to him. He'd call her the next weekend and she would say she was hoping he would. They would meet up at a party and sit talking together and drinking slowly, because they wanted to remember everything the other said, and her friends were leaving and she was going with them. But she would stay behind a moment to say goodbye, but ask him if he could drive her later. He'd say yes and go to the bathroom and splash his face with water and stand, beaming, in front of the mirror. They would sit together watching bad films and good films and laugh, and kiss, and she'd hold his hand and he'd wish her luck when she went to her audition the next day. She would come home radiant if she thought she did well, and forlorn if she didn't perform her best. And this would become a kind of routine once she got kicked out of her apartment and came to live with him. He was always proud of her, she was so gorgeous and had talent and was out there doing it, really going for her dream. He respected that. He would love her and she would love him.
Jordan Stijl had been living there for three months, and drank vodka on the way to work every morning, and just walked around sometimes to try and meet someone, but never saw anyone to meet. He was just a spectre on the streets, haunting the city, he just watched, watched nothing. He didn't go to fancy parties, he still held on to some of his fantasies. But he never met her.
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