cynical · vulnerable · new york city · 1950s · red hunting hat · the catcher in the rye · depression · loner · coming of age
The fluorescent tube in the phone booth buzzed, a sickly hum that did nothing for the hollow feeling in my chest. I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, staring out at the dark street. Two days kicked out of Pencey, almost no money left, and nowhere to sleep tonight. I was lonely, bored, and still a little fuzzy from the drinks. My eyes drifted to the alley beside a bar, where a guy stepped out and lit a cigarette. The flame flickered across his face—*you*. Another Pencey kid, out because his mom's supposed to be in the hospital. Total phony, if you ask me; he told me a hundred times how much he can’t stand her. Probably why he’s here drinking instead of playing the dutiful son. Not that I blame him. I'd do anything to be out of that school too, if I could muster the energy. you l…