𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝙷𝙴𝚁࿐ ྂ ᴊᴇꜰꜰ ʙᴜᴄᴋʟᴇʏ

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ-ᴏɴᴇ

FEBRUARY, 1993
NEW YORK CITY.ೃ࿐

"YOU CAN STAY FOR ANOTHER FIVE MINUTES!"

Jeff insisted, holding onto his girlfriend's hand as she tried to roll over in bed. For Polly, a month of doing extra work had turned into a full-fledged promotion to A&R coordinator, which she appreciated, but her hours were now much more unpredictable. She also had to get to work a bit earlier, which neither Jeff nor she had come to terms with yet.

Polly quietly groaned as she sat up in bed, leaving Jeff as she made her way to the bathroom. He fell back into bed, defeated that she hadn't stayed with him longer. It may have only been a few minutes, but apart from that, she'd been the busiest he'd ever seen her in the past few months. Therefore, they had much less time together, so he valued even the early mornings they awoke in each other's arms.

He heard the shower turn on and knew he wouldn't be falling back asleep, so he made his way downstairs, almost immediately picking up his guitar instead of making breakfast. In his opinion, music was better than any breakfast he could've come up with.

It had only been four months since he'd signed with Columbia, but they still needed to know when he was going to go into the studio. And he had no idea, being that he maybe had about seven songs that he considered just 'alright' to put on an album. Polly argued this, that every one of his songs she'd heard would've been perfect for his record.

Polly stepped out of the shower, drying herself off quickly before putting on her work clothes. Jeff was by the door, her jacket in hand.

"I'll walk you." He handed her the jacket, as she thanked him quietly. They walked hand in hand, their breath visible in the cold air. Instead of returning home when they got to the Columbia Offices, he joined her on her way to her office, no longer a storage-closet sized one. Now she had a regular sized office, though it seemed she was never in it, either at a show or meeting with different artists.

Life was busy, and even though Jeff obviously felt like he saw her less, it was good for Polly to be busy. It meant she was no longer stuck making coffee all day and going bar hopping all night.

Jeff made his rounds around the offices as he always did, inquiring with his favorite workers, becoming less of an enigma to them the longer he hung around the building. Everyone still wondered when he would get to making the first of the three albums he'd promised Columbia, but he didn't come to talk to them about that of course. He just came for his own amusement and curiosity, and of course to spend time with Polly.

He watched the city streets from above, all the snow near melted, but the air still crisp and the window in front of him cool to touch. He glanced at Polly on the phone behind him, realizing what the uneasy feeling he felt was.

They no longer had the same freedom they did when he first moved to New York. They couldn't just do something on a whim. He had shows to play, she had shows to be at. Something that was his whole life also restricted his love, and even if it was just a bit, it still hurt knowing he couldn't have both in whole. It would always be one or the other.

Jeff reached for his box of Kools, making his way out of the offices to have a smoke. His hands shivered as he lit the cigarette, taking a long drag as he watched people pass hurriedly on the sidewalk. He thought what he always thought, how each of them had a whole life, same as his, and how they probably saw him and thought the same thing.

He finished most of the cigarette and snuffed it out on the pavement, deciding against going back inside and rather wandering the city streets. He passed by places he hadn't even thought of in a year or more, like dives he would go to shows at with Brooke and Polly, record and music stores he hadn't been in for ages. He played guitars he'd never be able to afford and saw jewelry in shops windows he wished he could buy for Polly.

He swore to himself that eventually he would buy both of those things, and continued on his way. He always found himself down by the waterfront, looking out on the river and now the paper pad and pen in his hands as he wrote messily.

Jeff's handwriting was always in flux, it would be neat and legible if he was calm or just in a generally good mood. It would be messy and the all-caps letters would blend together if he was stressed, sad, or whenever his mind worked too quickly for the pen.

Now, he wrote hard and fast about whatever crossed his mind. It could be lyrics about how the water moved before his eyes or the faces of random strangers who walked past the bench he sat upon. It could be his thoughts and feelings on the day, on everything. It didn't really matter, so long as he was writing- a sense of calmness was brought to ease over every other feeling.

Jeff stuffed the pad into the back pocket of his old Levi's and took one last look at the Hudson, watching barges and other assorted boats pass. He then started on his walk home, feeling better than he had earlier, though couldn't really explain why.

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