The truth about August

Eight

I woke up the next morning to the unpleasant sounds of my cat demanding me for attention. I groaned as I squinted my eyes to the soft sun rays penetrating the wooden window blinds of my ancient apartment.

"Meeeeow!" Solo, my black polka-dotted cat, cried and I rubbed my eyes to see him sitting right next to me on the bed.

"Not today, Solo" I grunted, only to receive another high pitched meow from him... and another... and another.
"Ugh, fine!" I said and grumpily pushed myself up from the bed.

Every morning Solo would wake me up so that I opened the blinds for him to stare out of the glass for hours. It was his favorite pastime besides watching TV, but it was the most annoying thing in days like this when I desperately needed to sleep.

I walked towards the window, already giving up any chance to continue sleeping and opened it to reveal the sunny day in London. Solo immediately took a seat on his favorite blue cushion (which used to be mine) on the windowsill and enjoyed the view of tree leafs dancing and flying with the wind, happy birds which never dared to come too close to him and the tranquil pacing of early risers walking around the sidewalks of my quiet current neighborhood.

I breathed in as I felt the soft morning breeze hit my face. Today would be a good day.

I dedicated my morning to administrate my recent earnings. Apart from having to pay for my father's treatment, another reason I needed the money was because I was actually planning on leaving London soon, and I couldn't do that without any cash on me. I had thought I would get easier business opportunities in this city, but I was proven wrong during the five months of my stay.

After taking a much needed shower, feeding Solo and hiding my money behind the toilet, just in case, I prepared myself to run some errands, concerning my father.

The grumpy old man of questionable precedence who happened to be my landlord had been on the verge of kicking me out of the ancient one-room apartment, so I planned on paying him the months I owed today too, before he actually went with it and threw my stuff and my cat to the streets. Finding landlords willing to rent you places without even having to see your ID was a real challenge here in London. It was another reason why moving to another country, like Italy, would be perfect. Italians never really cared about anything.

I found Glenn, the mean landlord, sitting in his usual chair right in the lobby, if you could call a room with two sofas and a TV older than me a lobby, he was having some tea and reading the newspaper when I stepped down the staircase.

"Hey there, Glenn" I smiled at him charmingly.

"Ren" He simply lifted his eyes to look at me without using any other muscle in his face or body. It was impressive sometimes.

"I got big news" I sang as I stepped closer and he grumbled.

"I doubt it" He went back to looking at the newspaper he was holding between his calloused fingers.

I slipped down on one of the sofas. With one hand, I reached to my purse and held up some money. It took some seconds for him to notice what I was holding right next to my face, but when he did, his permanently frowned eyebrows raised and it was a peculiar sighting.

"I told you I would get the money" I smirked and the old man lifted one of his eyebrows when his frown came back.

"I don't want to know how" He said and held his hand to me, his eyes lingering on the bandaid on my forehead.