Exhibit Read Free Page A

I’m even more successful now, but nobody put a million dollars in my bank to start me off, like some of the other fuckers I work with.
    Every cent I own I’ve earned, and I’ve busted my balls for it too. You put the hard work in, you’re going to reap the rewards. If you don’t, you’re either not doing it right, or you’re doing it wrong. It’s a s simple as that.
    We round the park and head down fifth. Snow has been cleared off the road here, but it's piled up pretty heavily on the sidewalk. I see kids throwing snowballs at each other and it reminds me of doing the same at high school. It's only ten years ago, but it seems so distant it could be a hundred. Traffic slows because of what looks like an earlier accident, so we divert around it. The driver seems to know what he's doing, but I avoid telling him in case it means he thinks I want a conversation. He may have driven me before, maybe not. Something about his face is familiar, but I never pay enough attention to be able to tell. It's a completely different world from mine and I don’t want any part of it.
    This city hides secrets most people never get to see. Behind closed doors, in basements and garages and bedrooms up and down this island shit goes on you wouldn’t believe. I saw a lot of that when I was acting, but believe me, nothing at all like what I’ve seen as a trader. Everybody has this image of actors and rock stars as the ones that party the most, but believe me, money corrupts. You work so close to it, it fucks up your mind so much you begin to see the whole world differently. Maybe that’s the reason so many people in this city are alone, walking about like fucking zombies with their brains already chewed out. This season is the worse for it, drunks falling asleep in banks of snow, drug addicts getting so strung out they tip over bridges and sink silently screaming into the Hudson, prostitutes every which way you look.
    Everybody’s on the game, and money makes the world go round. Some of us just know how to play it right.

Violet
    I try my best to keep my jeans dry on the way to the bus stop, but it's fucking impossible. Even though I roll them up well away from the ground, somehow the damp gets to them like it's climbed there by itself. I have a pair of shoes that are supposed to be waterproof, but they clearly aren't, because by the time I get on the bus and find a seat, I realize how cold and wet my feet are. It's only 8pm and the bus is already full of drunks, and before we're even five minutes into the journey someone's already hitting on me.
    He's sweet enough, but his breath stinks of alcohol and his lips are all red where it looks like he's been drinking wine by the gallon load. He puts his hand on my thigh at one point, maybe just to balance himself, maybe because he figures boundaries don’t exist over Christmas, and I show him I don't appreciate it at all, by getting up and standing over by the doors. At the next stop he gets out, along with about six other men in suits and stupid cone shaped kids hats, I presume from the same Christmas office party.
    'Bitch', he says to me as he leaves.
    I flick him the bird when the bus pulls past them, but he’s already forgotten about me, lost in the huddle of his friends. Fucking asshole.
    When I get to the right stop, I have a ten minute walk through Greenwich Village to the bar Vicki has chosen to celebrate in. It's fucking cold, despite the several layers I'm wearing, and I hug myself against it try and keep warm. It's at times like this that I miss Daniel.
    I'm much better off without him, that's for sure, and I wouldn't want to get back together with him even if I could, but doing everything constantly on my own is beginning to make me feel much lonelier than I ever thought would be possible. It’s especially difficult at this time of year too. What I really miss, much more than Daniel I suppose, is having somebody special, just to be there for me. Someone that would be able to hug