All You Need Is Love
Get Back
It was a freezing cold winter morning. It was 9 a.m. and scarcely any light. The suburbanites were beginning their schooling, the shopkeepers were setting up their stores, and there was still a flurry of people late to work.
Then there was a sullen girl in her apartment, writing stories of political oppression, oblivious to the rush outside of her walls. She slowly dragged the last cigarette of the packet, stroking the poetry carved into her thigh:
"Here I stand, head in hand..."
The lyrics of Jim Morrison filled the dim room as she made her way to the window and stuck her head out. It was grey and miserable, nothing out of the ordinary. She spotted a man below on the street standing next to a newspaper stand.
"Oi! You! What day is it today?" she yelled.
He looked up in surprise.
"The 24th!" came his reply.
"Thank you."
Reluctant to return to the dark room, she sat on the sill, looking down on the Paddington street. She looked back over her shoulder to where the man was still stealing glances at her.
"What's your name?" he screamed.
She turned to properly look at him. He was decent looking, with a mop of light brown hair, a skinny frame and dressed in black. How original.
"Meredith," she drawled.
"I'm James!" he quickly responded, now grinning at her.
"Why so happy, 'James'? It's a fucking typical and miserable day. Nothing to be chuffed about."
"Well, you're wrong! Every day’s to be cherished, rain or shine, good or bad! It's what me mum used to say to me!" he replied, unfazed.
"Hate to break it to you, but your mum's full of shit."
He pretended to look hurt.
"Come down and say that to my face."
"Pfft, dream on. I'm not going down there."
"Scared, are we?" he taunted.
"Yes," she sarcastically replied.
"No you're not! Come down!" he persisted.
"Do I even know you? Why are you talking to me?" she asked, now annoyed.
"Well, no, but-"
"Then piss off, why don't you?"
His cheeriness disappeared at her words. He never got that second glance he wanted as he walked off down the street.
Then there was a sullen girl in her apartment, writing stories of political oppression, oblivious to the rush outside of her walls. She slowly dragged the last cigarette of the packet, stroking the poetry carved into her thigh:
"Here I stand, head in hand..."
The lyrics of Jim Morrison filled the dim room as she made her way to the window and stuck her head out. It was grey and miserable, nothing out of the ordinary. She spotted a man below on the street standing next to a newspaper stand.
"Oi! You! What day is it today?" she yelled.
He looked up in surprise.
"The 24th!" came his reply.
"Thank you."
Reluctant to return to the dark room, she sat on the sill, looking down on the Paddington street. She looked back over her shoulder to where the man was still stealing glances at her.
"What's your name?" he screamed.
She turned to properly look at him. He was decent looking, with a mop of light brown hair, a skinny frame and dressed in black. How original.
"Meredith," she drawled.
"I'm James!" he quickly responded, now grinning at her.
"Why so happy, 'James'? It's a fucking typical and miserable day. Nothing to be chuffed about."
"Well, you're wrong! Every day’s to be cherished, rain or shine, good or bad! It's what me mum used to say to me!" he replied, unfazed.
"Hate to break it to you, but your mum's full of shit."
He pretended to look hurt.
"Come down and say that to my face."
"Pfft, dream on. I'm not going down there."
"Scared, are we?" he taunted.
"Yes," she sarcastically replied.
"No you're not! Come down!" he persisted.
"Do I even know you? Why are you talking to me?" she asked, now annoyed.
"Well, no, but-"
"Then piss off, why don't you?"
His cheeriness disappeared at her words. He never got that second glance he wanted as he walked off down the street.