He stared at the card. He had propped it against an ashtray in his room. He kept coins in the ashtray because he didn’t smoke. He just liked that it said “New York Police Department” in the center and had their logo. Sometimes he’d move the coins just so he could see it.

He came to a conclusion about the drivers license. He thought she looked annoying.

The cat next door had moved to the very left corner of its window, which was only inches away from the right corner of Eli’s window. It let out a curt, loud meow, and Eli jumped, hitting his dresser and spilling all the coins in the ashtray.

“Fuck off, Almond!” The cat’s name was Almond. It can be difficult to get mad at a cat named Almond.

“Sorry Almond, I didn’t mean it. Whatever, though. I’d still prefer if you fucked off. Please.” Great, he thought, now I’m worrying about demonstrating polite etiquette with neighboring cats. Almond meowed again, seemingly to excuse herself. She walked down her windowpane away from Eli. Suddenly he missed her.

“I mean, if you want to hang out, you can come back,” he said, in forcibly casual tone. Eli and the cat stared at each other. The cat walked away.

“Fine Almond, fuck you very much.” He decided to look for the drivers license that had fallen. Feeling defeated by life, he held it, looking at it a little more tenderly. She looks lost, he thought. I wonder what she’s like.

~

There were seven pills in front of her.

I'm cliché, thought Astrid.

Her mother had left for work early this morning and was yet to return. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be missing for periods of time, but it was late at night and Astrid was surprised. Perhaps her mother was also having an affair, like her. That would be an interesting plot twist, but was too unlikely. Astrid's mom never did anything interesting. To begin, her mother watched Fox News. In complete seriousness. Few things infuriated Astrid more than people who were blindly convinced by the media. Secondly, her mom used the word “hip,” and often incorrectly. It isn’t even a difficult word, thought Astrid, every time her mother managed to misuse it. She stayed silent. While her mother liked t-shirts from Target, Astrid hated that Target even existed. Her mother watched Desperate Housewives. If someone ever asked Astrid whether her and her mom were close, that is what she would tell them: “she watches Desperate Housewives.” They’d all understand, nodding quietly, mourning for her situation. Further explanation was never needed.

She decided to take two. She thought about existence, and faded away, staring at the black and white posters on her wall. M.C Escher’s creatures seemed to wink, and only a few seconds before sleep she heard the front door click. Her mother sighed as she walked in, and as if on cue, Astrid fell asleep.

~

I’ll just return it to her. There is no reason why I would throw it away now. She lives nearby and I’ll map it. It won’t take long. I’ll just leave it on her front mat. We’ll never meet, I’ll have done a good samaritan deed, and I can call it a day. Then I can get back to the miserable joke that my life is, and she can get back to her most likely lovely, normal life.

He put on his torn Vans, mostly because every pair of Vans in the world seem to be torn, and stepped out into the hot, Los Angeles sun. His car was a 1998 Volvo station-wagon, dark green with tan leather seats. His favorite colors. The radio didn’t work but he didn’t mind because he bought a chargeable one to take its place. It was purple. He wasn’t a big fan of the color but it had been on sale. Funny how sales make you sacrifice like that.

“Gimme Shelter” by the Rolling Stones started playing. It was one of his favorite songs and made the trip much easier. Her house was eight minutes away, including traffic. No wonder he found the ID, she probably dropped it walking home. There was a rather daunting, white picket fence around the property. Huh, twenty-two and still living with her parents. I guess I’m a little bit better off, although I’ve got a few years on her. He started to walk up the brick cobblestone path lined with cliche miniature rose bushes. Jesus Christ, we aren’t in New England, and this isn’t even a nice neighborhood. Posers. He quickened his pace. I do not want to run into these people, he thought. As he approached the mat, the front door opened. He looked up and made eye contact with a butler. Eli laughed, hard. He stared and he laughed. The butler just stared back, bewildered.

“Excuse me, may I help you?” The butler asked in a proper tone as Eli’s laughter tapered down.

“Yeah dude, yeah. This chick lost her license.” The butler looked down at the card offered. Eli’s sweater had a thumb hole, which he was currently using, and which the butler seemed mildly perturbed by.

“Hm. Well, you’ve come to the right place. Thank you for returning it. Were you looking for a reward?”

“No, no. It barely costs anything to replace it, that would be silly. Thank you though.”

“Alright, again, it is very much appreciated.” Eli could tell the mention of a reward was out of principle, or some kind of show. It sounded almost rhetorical when he asked.

They made eye contact for a few awkward moments. Eli turned away, saying “hope you have a good day,” and started to walk down the brick path. He overheard a higher pitched voice, speaking quickly and quietly. He decided not to turn around, because that would probably be a strange thing for him to do. So he stared at the ground, passing each handful of bricks with a step. He was so focused on making his legs move forward that when a backpack knocked him in the shoulder, he almost leapt with shock.

“Holy shit!” He gasped as he jumped out of the way.

“Sorry, sorry!” It was Astrid, flustered and frantic. Running past him, her short, orange hair whipping quickly behind her. She seemed genuinely sorry. For someone who lived in a house like this, she didn’t dress like it. Astrid looked more like a punk girl who you could find browsing the back wall of Spencer’s than a high class debutante whose home was lined with miniature rose bushes. To say the least. Her faded black jeans looked more like a thrift store find than anything in a department store. He watched her run to her Audi.

Eli stood in the path and laughed again.

“He’s probably high,” thought the butler, peering around the front door.