Ink

New York City is a crazy, surreal place. There are many components that make it this way, of course. Such as the subway, the expenses, the food, the people, the talent, the art, etc. But what makes it so unique is the fact that everyone loves it. The hustle, the bustle, the tricks, and the parties. Everyone loves New York City. 

Forget the beautiful countryside. NYC is where it's at. That is simply,  just the way it is. 

Ask around and they'll charge you to hear their life stories. But it always ends up worth it. Because the people are amazing. 

The art? You'll find it everywhere. Street artists, paintings, buildings, interior design, body-art, and the goddamn fashion. Yes… it's everywhere. The crowds are worth it, too. 

The food is phenomenal. From sushi bars, to mexican joints, you'll be in heaven. Especially if you are a die hard foodie, like Guy Fieri or Rachel Ray. 

There are no words to describe New York City other than amazing or fantastic. And if I'm being frank, anyone would love it.

New York has a place for everyone. Especially Kurt Hummel. 

Kurt Hummel isn't your average male. He's too different to be average. There's something in his eyes that could send sparks through your whole body; head to toe. He has a way with words, and humor, so you simply cannot walk away from a conversation with him. He dresses in attire so neat and clean that you'd question how you dress. No, I am not saying he's better than the rest, but maybe I am. To be quite honest, in my eyes, he just is. But not everyone thinks so. Which is why I wonder about him. How does he stay positive and fresh? How does he maintain existence when everyone tears him down? Where did he come from? Who is this magnificent boy who has helped me so much? I was cruel to him. Very cruel. But he helped me. And I'm still trying to figure out why.

But overall, New York was missing its missing piece before Kurt Hummel arrived. And now that it has found it, I just don't see a reason for anyone to question it. But the true reason why I am explaining this isn't to vent about how much I admire Kurt Hummel. It's to vent about how I fell in love with him, even though it wasn't necessarily right.

It was snowing rather hard that winter morning. The weather man had said it would snow, but he didn't quite elaborate, I guess. 

It was truly a blizzard.

I stood by my wooden bookshelf in my loft, gazing at the fluffy, white puffs of evaporated water from previous rains. It flouted down and sparkled when it landed on the silver, wet ground. The sky was grey and the city was darkened. There was no sun out that morning. I had called my employees, Quinn and Puck, in order to tell them to just stay home. There wasn't a chance in hell I would have risked my life, not to mention theirs', by making them go out in the traitorous storm. The streets were full and most of them were blocked off. I knew that I wasn't going to open the shop. However, I was a bit melancholy about it due to all the great appointments I had scheduled. 

I got my bachelors degree in art when I was twenty-two. I spent four years in logo-design until I brought up enough money to open my own little tattoo parlor, which had been my dream since high school. I didn't have loads of money coming in back then. I was good at what I had and I had day to day customers, but things only began taking off when I turned twenty-six and kicked in the gears. I noticed one day that I'd been making progress and I just never stopped. Quinn and Puck were aspects of this, important ones at that.

In high school, Quinn, Puck, and I were called bad influences. Quinn Fabray was our school's skank. She's dated Noah Puckerman since freshman year. Puck was my best friend, growing up. We went to juvie together for stealing an ATM machine. It was quite the mistake. It went on both of our track records.

Nowadays, we'd lay low and do what we do best: Ink.

I took a break  from staring out of the window so that I could go on the terrace and smoke a cigarette. 

My balcony was large and had a little swing under a roof created by the terrace above mine. My apartment was a two bedroom, two bathroom. One bathroom had a shower. My livingroom and kitchen were connected by a wall that had many shelves that I used for books and DVDs. I decorated the guest bedroom with black and green strips. I had a queen sized bed and dresser with a mirror attached and was moderately big. My bedroom was simply black and red, as well as the bathroom in it, which had a bamboo shower and a bathtub with jets. My second bathroom was navy blue and white, while my kitchen and livingroom were both pale green and brown. You wouldn't have pegged me for a soft-color-liker, would you have?

I loved my apartment. I'd worked hard for it. From the black tiled floors, to the carpets and wood… it was mine and I was grateful for it.

But the apartment was too big. And very lonely. I had hoped that one day,I'd find someone to share it with.