Intertwined

C2: The working-class Cadillac

"Don't you want a lift?" asked Fred. He was eating a sandwich on the couch full of leftovers of chips, feet on the table. His breath was smelly, he had bags under his eyes and his curly dark hair managed to look like a nest even though it was short.

"It won't be necessary, thanks" answered Trevor, pulling the worn, grey knit sweater over his uniform, that was, a white shirt with an apron over it which he had tucked under the black trousers, while looking at the painting of the five roses, four red and one black, hanging on the wall. "I'll walk."

Fred sighed.

"Fine, it's your choice. Good luck today." he said.

Trevor nodded and closed the apartment door behind him. He calmly walked the three floors down the stairs. The building didn't have an elevator. The unpainted walls made it look like an unfinished construction. It was cold and grey. Being winter, the corridors were now absolutely freezing. He wished he had put on more clothes, although he didn't have much more.

What he had in abundance was time, as he had promised to himself that he wouldn't be late again after his boss' second warning. He had woken up fifteen minutes earlier this time, using the reminiscent of his will power. The fifteen minutes he was usually late.

"Sometimes you'll get up in the morning ahead of time, fix yourself a nice breakfast with a big smile on your face..."

He forced the memory of those words away. He needed to focus. A week had passed since Adriana's visit. However, Trevor couldn't get her out of his head. The five minutes of interaction they had together had been more profound than twenty years of living with his parents. She understood him. She was like him, probably. The thoughts whirled in his head about the meaning of her short, sudden appearance in his life. Something that exact couldn't be merely a coincidence.

But the whirling had to stop as Fred approached him running in his spotted pajamas along the sidewalk. Breathing heavily, he finally stopped next to Trevor, and started talking.

"I'm really sorry for bothering you now, but I can't keep putting this off or I'll never tell you. I think... I think I'll have to ask you to pay this month too."

Trevor rolled his eyes and facepalmed, with great frustration in his expression.

"Weren't your parents gonna lend you money?" he asked agressively.

"Yeah, yeah, but it's not that easy with them. I have to get the odds in my favor, you know how it is" Fred excused himself.

"You wouldn't have to work out any odds if you went out to find a job every once in a while instead of wasting the whole day at home!"

And they argued in the street for a long time, in front of the curious eyes of the pedestrians, the drivers, the neighbors and their building's doorman. They yelled, swore and even pushed each other.

Trevor reproached him that he couldn't keep paying the rent and feeding them both for another month. He had already had to get a loan to cover last month, which Fred had sworn over his mother's future grave that he was going to pay back in no time.

On the other hand, Fred asked him to try to understand his situation. It wasn't easy for a highschool dropout to find a job, and he couldn't do more than he was already doing.

"Pack your things and leave today, then!" shouted Trevor.

Fred freezed. "I can't go back with my parents." he assured.

"Sleep on the streets, then." sentenced Trevor. "I'm not getting a dime more of debt for you."

Trevor's words echoed like bells, crude and inflexible, as he resumed his walk.