Suicide Notes Of a New York Love Affair
Differences.
It was 1st January 2001, a new year and yet another new place to live. For Sonny it was the case, anyway. Although Sonny was only 19 years old, he was an entrepreneur that was destined for big things to happen in his work. The year before he was living in Texas with his work partner, Jaret Reddick. However, one thing led to another and Jaret was behind bars after being convicted of attempted murder. Sonny was found innocent but was still hounded by the police every second of his life for conspiracy for murder. Sonny thought about this but shook the idea from his mind, “don’t think about that, it’s in the past, this is a new year,” he told himself. He looked down at the print out of an email he was sent the day before. “Flat B, Chicago House, Cemetery Drive” it said. Sonny felt some what unsettled by the name of the road, as if it was already sounding like trouble. Sonny made his way through massive crowds of people, being pushed this way and that by important people going to their important jobs, watching grumbling beggars getting up to beg for their day, stopping for children being ushered to their schools. Sonny stopped to sit and watch all this happening and to eat his lunch consisting of a pathetically made ham sandwich and a mars bar. This is probably the only moment of peace I’ll get today, he thought to himself. After he had eaten his lunch and brushed the crumbs off his expensive Italian suit, Sonny made his way to the Subway, shoving every person aside so he could get through. After fifteen minutes of being pushed against the glass by other people on the subway, Sonny was walking up Cemetery Drive to his new home. It was a rather upmarket road, nothing Sonny would have thought it would look like (he didn’t get a chance to see it in person thanks to his busy work schedule). He stopped outside a big, cream white building with black swirls on the rails on the terraces and banisters. Sonny slowly walked up to a tall figure standing by the house on his mobile phone.
‘…And fire Bert if he can’t act like a team member.’ Said the man.
‘Erm… Mr Kiedis? I’m Sonny Moore. I believe we spoke on the phone yesterday, I’m buying Flat B.’
‘Ah yes, Mr Moore! I’m Anthony Kiedis’ He said, putting his phone away so he could shake Sonny’s hand. Despite Mr Kiedis’ tallness he spoke with a lisp. ‘I apologise but I must leave to meet another client. Here are your keys and please call me if there are any problems. Good bye!’
He said this all very quickly and hurriedly left before Sonny had enough time to ask him to repeat it all again. Sonny put his key into the door and opened it with a sigh. He walked up the stairs, admiring the swirls on the banisters, before opening his also white door. He had a small studio flat consisting of one large bedroom with an en suite, sitting room, bathroom, kitchen and, of course, a study. Sonny put his suitcase down in his bedroom and began to unpack his belongings, making sure his clothes he was putting into his drawers were neatly folded and not mixed up with another item of clothing. Sonny was a neat and tidy person. He was the kind of person who would put his cans and tins into alphabetical order and iron his underwear. He had never been to a club before, not even in his teens, and he regarded fun as doing paperwork and had never had a girlfriend. At 10:30 sharp that night he was in bed asleep. Half and hour later he was awoken by bursts of hard-rock music from upstairs. Grumbling to himself, he shoved on his dressing gown and slippers and went upstairs.
‘Fucking kids’ he muttered under his breath. Angrily, he knocked on the door repeatedly for five minutes before a teenager came to answer the door. He was at least 18 years old with thick-rimmed glasses but was dressed like a fourteen year old, with black drainpipes and a green and black stripy sweatshirt on, somehow resembling Jarvis Cocker in a weird way.
‘Yeah. What do you want?’ The boy said, looking Sonny up and down.
‘Could you be as kind as to turn your music down please?’ Sonny asked with all the kindness he could muster.
‘Make me. I’m only supposed to turn my music down at eleven. So you’ll have to wait for a while,’ He smirked.
‘Well I’m sorry, but I have important work to do tomorrow, so turn it down now or I’ll have to call the police.’
‘I don’t care if you have to or not, I’m not turning it down for at least another hour, sweet dreams!’ They boy turned and laughed before slamming the door in Sonny’s face. Sonny felt slightly agitated at this but didn’t let it bother him.
‘He probably hasn’t even got a proper job and his house must look like a pig sty, don’t stoop down to his level,’ he told him self on the way back to his tidy flat. He thanked god he wasn’t like that teenager.
‘…And fire Bert if he can’t act like a team member.’ Said the man.
‘Erm… Mr Kiedis? I’m Sonny Moore. I believe we spoke on the phone yesterday, I’m buying Flat B.’
‘Ah yes, Mr Moore! I’m Anthony Kiedis’ He said, putting his phone away so he could shake Sonny’s hand. Despite Mr Kiedis’ tallness he spoke with a lisp. ‘I apologise but I must leave to meet another client. Here are your keys and please call me if there are any problems. Good bye!’
He said this all very quickly and hurriedly left before Sonny had enough time to ask him to repeat it all again. Sonny put his key into the door and opened it with a sigh. He walked up the stairs, admiring the swirls on the banisters, before opening his also white door. He had a small studio flat consisting of one large bedroom with an en suite, sitting room, bathroom, kitchen and, of course, a study. Sonny put his suitcase down in his bedroom and began to unpack his belongings, making sure his clothes he was putting into his drawers were neatly folded and not mixed up with another item of clothing. Sonny was a neat and tidy person. He was the kind of person who would put his cans and tins into alphabetical order and iron his underwear. He had never been to a club before, not even in his teens, and he regarded fun as doing paperwork and had never had a girlfriend. At 10:30 sharp that night he was in bed asleep. Half and hour later he was awoken by bursts of hard-rock music from upstairs. Grumbling to himself, he shoved on his dressing gown and slippers and went upstairs.
‘Fucking kids’ he muttered under his breath. Angrily, he knocked on the door repeatedly for five minutes before a teenager came to answer the door. He was at least 18 years old with thick-rimmed glasses but was dressed like a fourteen year old, with black drainpipes and a green and black stripy sweatshirt on, somehow resembling Jarvis Cocker in a weird way.
‘Yeah. What do you want?’ The boy said, looking Sonny up and down.
‘Could you be as kind as to turn your music down please?’ Sonny asked with all the kindness he could muster.
‘Make me. I’m only supposed to turn my music down at eleven. So you’ll have to wait for a while,’ He smirked.
‘Well I’m sorry, but I have important work to do tomorrow, so turn it down now or I’ll have to call the police.’
‘I don’t care if you have to or not, I’m not turning it down for at least another hour, sweet dreams!’ They boy turned and laughed before slamming the door in Sonny’s face. Sonny felt slightly agitated at this but didn’t let it bother him.
‘He probably hasn’t even got a proper job and his house must look like a pig sty, don’t stoop down to his level,’ he told him self on the way back to his tidy flat. He thanked god he wasn’t like that teenager.