By 11:00 AM, he had finished everything and was waiting for Dez's call, even though he knew it might not come.
He sat on the floor where his bed was supposed to be, staring at the ceiling, which had multiple wet areas and swells due to pipe leakage.
'…What is my life?'
Lenny was always a deep thinker, but occasionally, even he struggled to comprehend his own actions. He was waiting for a job call despite having just attempted suicide the previous evening.
He very well understood that, for the most part, he didn't want to die. But there was nothing he could do. He could either commit suicide or let the loan shark he was indebted to harvest his organs.
Despite the loneliness and hopelessness, he still had dreams. He still had the will to live, but he had been descending into an unending pit of debt with not a shred of hope in sight. He had no college degree, no exceptional talent, and no connection. As though running on a never-ending hamster wheel of debt, poverty, and despair.
What way was there out of this? Wasn't it only death?
'Be reborn…'
Lenny thought back to the hazy words of the stranger who had rescued him. He silently took out his phone once more, hovering his thumb above the 'enable' button of the flamboyant app icon. Contemplating.
Was he so miserable that he started believing in such obvious lies?
Grrr~
Just then, his stomach grumbled, crying out for breakfast. Sighing, he tucked his phone away and got to his feet.
Getting to the kitchen, he placed his hand on the aged refrigerator door and then paused.
'…What am I even expecting? There's nothing. I haven't restocked. Dammit, all those preparations and stunts, only to still be alive…'
Lenny clicked his tongue and fully opened the refrigerator. As expected, it was completely devoid of anything consumable.
As an individual burdened with numerous bills and substantial debt, Lenny usually bought groceries and foodstuffs to cook for himself, as street food and takeout summed up to be more expensive in the long run.
However, with nothing in the aged refrigerator, he exited the small apartment.
Lenny's home was Apt. 304. He lived on the third floor of a five-story red-bricked apartment building in Montreville, a neighbourhood on the left middle side of Orlande.
Water, electricity, good ventilation, and a laundry room on the ground floor of the apartment building were the amenities offered. At least on the surface, that was the case.
The majority of the complex's light bulbs and sockets were either broken or faulty, and water only rushed during specific times of the day. Lenny was not sure if it had been neglected or if it had been done on purpose to save money on utility costs.
The location had lost all charm due to persistent pipe leaks that dampened the walls and ceilings. Additionally, it had been a while since the building had been painted, so the red bricks that adorned its outer entirety looked heavily washed.
Lenny nonetheless paid $839.20 in rent for the one-bedroom apartment, plus an additional $182.43 for utilities, for a total cost of about $12,000 per year. By using sound urban planning and policy, Neapolis was able to reduce the burden on netizens in terms of housing and the average cost of living.
Simply put, Orlande was designated as a working-class neighbourhood, with apartment prices rising as one got closer to Greensly, a neighbourhood that was home to the lower-middle-class, and falling as one got closer to Queensgate, a neighbourhood that was home to the underclass—a fancy term for the poor and destitute.
In this way, people might find it simpler to go about their daily lives, which in turn increases the likelihood that they will succeed, which benefits the city and boosts the economy. An ideal cycle. There was a reason why Neapolis was ranked first among other world-class cities.
Someone once remarked that in Neapolis, the only thing separating the lower middle class from the poor was air conditioning.
Lenny walked out to the streets of Montreville with his arms in his pocket, his upper body slouching.
He witnessed the street vendors going about their day-to-day and was indifferent to the sights of congested apartment buildings with little to no green spaces and power lines running from place to place. There were also a few cars, delivery trucks, and so on parked here and there.
The corners of the two-car-wide tarred road were clogged with trash. The atmosphere was heavy and damp from the dense cluster of buildings and the current winter weather.
As though invisible, nobody minded Lenny as he walked down the hilly landscape.
The locals were familiar with him because he was rumored to be a gambling addict with no college education and a debt of more than $200,000; and as a result, he was shunned and given a wide gait as everyone unanimously knew that he was bad news. Only God knew how he managed to accumulate such a massive debt despite being a nobody.
His destination was Nana's Kitchen, a little diner close to the intersection. An acquaintance of his managed it.
Gring~
The bell rang out, signifying his entrance. Lenny's gaze fell on the fair elderly woman using the cash register machine in front of her while she was seated at the edge of the counter and sporting a yellow-and-red apron.
The diner was a small and compact space, enough for about six tables with chairs for customers to sit and eat.
As he approached, her eyes widened, and she asked worriedly with a Korean accent, "Oh, Lenny, are you sick?"
After flashing a smile, Lenny shook his head.
"I'm alright, Nana. Just a little hungry."
Nana nodded, her face displaying a look of realization.
"Oh, okay, okay. What would you like to eat?"
Lenny surveyed the menu plastered on the flat surface of the counter and pondered.
"Uh, I think I'd like some... Ramyeon," he said, and added inwardly, '...because it's cheap.'
The delicacies sold here were Korean quick dishes. From what Lenny knew, Ramyeon was the Korean version of the well-known 'ramen' made up of noodles in boiling water to make a quick, tasty meal.
Just then, a voice came from the corridor that led to the back.
"Yo, bruh, fuck that."
Walking into sight was a chubby middle-aged man of average height with short black hair and a short, unkempt stubble peppering his chin. His eyes were narrowed into an intimidating glare, and his round cheeks seemed to puff with an air of arrogance.
"You always have Ramyeon, you friggin' cheapskate. Try some grilled pork belly today. It's the best!"
This was the acquaintance Lenny spoke of, Han Dong-seok, Nana's son. He also had a yellow-red apron on, framing his wide build.
"Be quiet!" Nana chided him, using the spatula in her hand to spank his head.
"Omma?" He screamed out, touching the affected area.
Nana slapped his shoulder and ordered, "Come make the Ramyeon!"
"Urgh…" Han grunted but wore the kitchen gloves and got to work. Lenny just stood and watched.
"So, bruh, how's it been?" Han asked.
The corner of Lenny's lips curled a little.
"Striving, as usual."
Han bobbed his head in approval and asked, "Broth?"
"Sure."
Lenny briefly scanned the diner. Two individuals were eating, and the waiter, who was dressed in unusually formal attire, was cleaning the other tables. There weren't many customers as it was past the morning rush hour.
Han paused what he was doing and leaned closer to Lenny, whispering, "Bruh, I've got some 'stuff'…"
Casually about to engage Han, Lenny's mind suddenly raced. He quickly turned around again and gave the unusually dressed waiter a proper look before blurting out,
"Ray?!"
Hearing the name, the waiter raised his head and turned. The man with olive skin, neatly styled dark hair, and tired brown eyes framed by a pair of retro square glasses flashed a warm, friendly smile.
"Ah, Lenny. Good morning."
He was a well-groomed man in his late 20s with a scholarly air about him as he donned a collared shirt, well-fitted black trousers, and polished shoes. His sense of corporate fashion clarified why he was drawn to pricey $1,400 oxfords like the pair he had previously lent Lenny.
But why on earth was he wiping down tables for a small diner?!