Last Tuesday I wanted to die. But really, how does that differ from all my other Tuesdays? Train fares are up and I was supposed to be in White Plains. My alarm went off and I opened my eyes to find a blue jay perched near my window. Ok, not really but work with me here. The day was great and I whistled as I got dressed and left the apartment. Didn't take long for me to get a bus into the city. For some reason, I didn't factor in that Metro North fares were raised as well when I got my Metrocard and caught the 7 train to Grand Central. Beautiful and blissfully ignorant I ran to the train just before the doors closed. I was still catching my breath when the conductor got to me and asked for my ticket.

"White Plains? Nine dollars."

Fuck. Me.

"Ugh. I only have five on me," I prayed that he'd look at my perfectly angelic face, my wrinkled eyebrows, half of my bottom lip pinned under my top teeth and let me slide.

Let me slide because I'm a good person? Let me slide because I just don't need this right now? Let me slide because you want to fuck me? Let me slide because I'm a good person and you want to fuck me? For the love of the blue planet, just let me slide. It's only four bucks anyway.

He didn't let me slide. I got off at 125th Street. Bad beginning of day and I was stuck in Harlem on the brink of begging for change or crying or both. I was like 75 cents short of the six bucks I needed to buy a train ticket to White Plains. The guy at the ticket booth told me I could just show the conductor I.D. and they would just send me a bill. I would've quickly done that if I had I.D.. I used a phone card I had to call Richie and tell him that I was pretty much just fucked and would have to go back downtown to borrow ten bucks from Eric.