Nakazaniye

Chapters

Drowning Cat
Bagged River
Methanol
Just Business
Back Door
Positively Negative
Lost Filly Blues
T
Morphine
Dumping Grounds

Drowning Cat

I arrived in Manehattan on a cold, rainy afternoon in fall. Some four or five years ago that must have been, but I couldn't say for sure. Maybe it was six or seven. I'm terrible with numbers, you know. Recalling any sorts of facts and such has never really been among my strengths. I've always considered myself more the poetic sort of pony. Somepony with a refined taste for the finer arts. Or at least that's what I could have been. I never really invested much time in appreciating any actual pieces of art. But had I ever done so, I'm sure I'd have enjoyed them very much.

When my train pulled into Manehattan Central at some time during that day, rain kept pouring down in streams from a thick, dark gray curtain of clouds. The weather had already been bad all day, but apparently the local pegasi decided to give it a little extra squeeze when I got off. Or so I thought. The rain seemed to be a little less strong when watching it from inside the cabin.

As soon as I exited the wagon, I noticed there wasn't any kind of roof anywhere on this platform. And the terminal building was all the way across the station grounds, a good two-hundred feet off. Several tracks still ran between the next dry spot and myself.

I winced; even galloping straight across would take me a good twenty seconds or so. While it didn't sound like much, it would still last long enough to get myself soaking wet. I couldn't really afford that. Of course, it wouldn't matter all that much if it were for my coat only, even though drying myself off afterwards always turned out to be a pain. I was more concerned about the two saddlebags strapped around my back. I needed to watch out after those.

Much like the rest of my scarce belongings, they weren't in a very good shape. Only two weeks ago, during a brief stay in Whinnyapolis, I somehow managed to tear one of them open on the bottom. I still can't figure out how that happened. It must have briefly gotten stuck somewhere when I didn't notice or didn't keep an eye out. These things tend to happen.

After giving it some thought, I had then decided to reinforce the bottom of both bags with a solid bit of cardboard, thus more or less preventing anything from falling out. Of course, that also meant I couldn't let my saddlebags get wet, unless I wanted them to fall apart completely. All things considered, the cardboard solution probably wasn't a very good idea after all. I came to regret making that decision, too. I really should have noticed earlier. I should already have noticed how bad an approach it was back in Whinnysota, right after the first rainfall. And there's rainy days up there pretty much all the time.

Now, I didn't have a choice. That was pretty clear right from the start. And I didn't have any time to lose either, so I wished it all to Tartarus, and dashed forward as quickly as my hooves would carry me. I leaped clear across the remaining tracks, and still arrived below the station's balcony in less than half a minute. Luckily, there weren't any other trains arriving or departing at the time, otherwise my visit might have been cut short a great deal. Because I pretty much forgot to look out for them, I think. Or maybe, I just didn't care.

I almost crashed through the door to the terminal building, given the sheer speed I still had upon reaching it, then tumbled into the crowded foyer that lay beyond. Most of the ponies I could make out in here were exceptionally well dressed, with the middle and lower classes only represented as a minority. My fears of Manehattan being way overdressed for a mare like me were easily dismissed, however, at the sight of a bum sleeping on a nearby bench, wrapped in blankets and old newspapers.

As far as first impressions went, this didn't tell me a lot about the city I just arrived in. It might have been a fancy place, but it didn't have to. Eventually, I shrugged off the thought and started shaking my entire rump and head back and forth in order to dry off to at least some degree. I think I saw some of the nearby ponies regarding me with disgust, while some others just brushed it off with a sneer. I really couldn't care less, either way. The worst thing to possibly happen would be somepony trying to sue me for money. Because I had no idea where that would be supposed to come from.

Then again, they probably had every right to react the way they did. I hadn't gotten a shower or bath in over a week or so.

I suppose I drew some of my immediate priorities from that thought. A bath sure would be nice, especially regarding this kind of muddy weather. And a room with a bed to sleep in, I thought. Those might round off the image pretty well. I'd been forced to sleep out on the street or some park bench on several occasions during my life. Although both may present an acceptable alternative at times, I really do prefer some dry place with a heater. Especially during this time of the year, that is.

After quickly plucking a still-fresh copy of the day's Manehattan Times from a nearby trash bin, I turned to head out of the building on the opposite side. Sure, I hated the thought of going back out into the rain. But it was just another necessary evil, right now. Unless I wanted to wait in the terminal building for the rest of the day, or whenever else the rain was supposed to stop. And I didn't want that. I was worn-out and tired from the journey, and from not seeing a proper bed in about three days. I felt cold, hungry, and perfectly annoyed by all those mindless ponies rushing on and about around me. Plus, I really wanted a bath.

Trotting up to the main exit, I spotted a row of small billboards on the wall right beside it. One of them described the way to a cheap hotel of some sort, somewhere nearby. The advertisement caught my eye almost immediately; for some reason, things like these look the same in every city, everywhere across the country. Or maybe, a pony like me just notices when she's spoken to after a while. In any case, I knew what I was dealing with.

Now, when I call out on a hotel being cheap, I really mean it. There's all sorts of products, deals, or services around the world I could describe with that word. As in, low budget, but they still work. And then there's things like these kinds of hotels, which are cheap. The really lousy kind, that is. A rusty bunk somewhere in the back of an office complex, combined with some cold breakfast and a cup of coffee that tastes like somepony already drank and digested it, earlier on.

Of course, they also never charged any more than five bits a week, and that at least was something I could afford. Scattered across my saddlebags at the time were twelve or thirteen of those coins, most of which I'd earned from running a few errands for a clerk while passing through Fillinois, the day before. The concerning address was located somewhere on East 39th Street. I had no idea where that was, but it couldn't be very far off. Whenever a place like this gets advertised at the railway station, it's usually within two or three blocks' range.

I stepped out into the open soon after. To my distaste, it was still pouring outside, maybe even heavier than before. I couldn't tell about that for sure. I only knew that I might need something else to reinforce my bags with, after today's walk. Maybe just some more, thicker cardboard would do the trick. It's not like pieces of that stuff aren't easily interchangeable, or something.

A row of cabs stood lined up front on the sidewalk, their drivers waiting for any potential passenger with anxious expressions. I can only guess how hard those inviting smiles of theirs must have been to keep up. Most of these stallions' coats were already dripping wet; they must have stood and waited out here for hours. One of them even asked me if I needed a ride, but I've never been one for luxuries like that. I would certainly enjoy the possibility, but my wallet usually tells me otherwise. Instead, I needed to cover this distance by myself, potential damage or not. The station was already at 42nd East, so it shouldn't be that long a walk, one way or another. In the end, it took me a good twenty minutes to get there.

The place was a lot like I envisioned it. Of course, most of my expectations came from experience on the subject, so that shouldn't be too big a surprise. A few helpfully positioned signs lead the way around a massive brick house, up to an insignificant looking steel door in the backyard. It wasn't locked, so I guessed it must be the right one. I sort of expected some kind of lobby or foyer to greet me, once inside. Instead, I only faced an old staircase, illuminated by several old neon lights. Each of them hung from the walls above the steps in regular intervals. Another helpful sign then informed me that the hotel was in fact situated on the eighth floor.

Grimacing, I once again shook the rainwater out of my drenched coat, then proceeded up the first steps. My saddlebags were now ruined for sure, and I'd be damned if I wouldn't catch a cold by tomorrow morning. It was by sheer luck that I hadn't lost anything out on the road, by now. Or maybe, I just hadn't noticed.

By the time I managed to march up all eight floors, I was already panting heavily. The dampness in my coat had drained all the energy from my limbs, I figured. There was an elevator in this building, but it didn't work. I never actually tried it, but doing so would be a waste of time in any case. These things never worked in cheap places like this one.

I could only hope that the hotel itself would still be in business. I hadn't met anyone else while trotting upstairs, which left me with a slightly discouraging feeling in my chest. Of course, the landings between floors also looked nice and cozy to some degree. Or at least, they would make a better resting place than anywhere outside. Hopefully, I thought, I wouldn't actually have to make use of that alternative. While sleeping on the stairs seemed a lot more pleasant than heading back out into the pouring rain, it also really wasn't what I'd come here for in the first place.

As it turned out, I got lucky. Another steel door would meet me there, this one with white paint that was already falling off in some places. And much like with its equivalent below, I was glad to find it unlocked. The room that lay beyond was anything but classy, still I wasn't one to complain about it.

It was kind of a long, empty hallway, about thirty feet in length and a good ten to twelve feet wide. On the far end, it seemed, the room took a turn to the left. A single, wooden door led on ahead from there. There was a counter to my right, reaching up approximately to the height of my shoulders. A tan coated mare with a bored expression was seated at a desk on the other side. Engrossed in some sort of crossword puzzle, she took a few seconds to notice my presence. In fact, she likely wouldn't have noticed me at all, hadn't it been for the sound of the door slamming close behind me.

"Need a room?" she asked, peering up towards me. Her eyes reflected everything but enthusiasm.

"Exactly," I replied, while trying to force a smile. "I'd like that five bits a week treatment, if you please."

Saying so, I already reached for my bags, then placed the coins onto the counter between us. The mare nodded. She took my money without anything further to add, then reached for something below for a second. Eventually, she returned to my sight with a small, rusty key between her teeth. It had a wooden plaque attached, bearing the number 213 on one side. Somepony had scribbled it on there with a black marker, a while back. She dropped it onto the same spot where my bits had been a second ago.

"Comes with a bathroom," she explained. "Try not to use too much water while you're at it. Your room is on the upper floor; there's a staircase down the corridor, just around the corner. Once upstairs, yours is the third door to the left. Dining room's up ahead from here, breakfast each morning from seven to ten. Any questions?"

I shook my head in response. "Nah, I'm good." That seemed to do it for her. She went back to her puzzles almost immediately.

Somehow, she didn't even want to know my name. Which was just as well, since I've never been particularly proud of it. I guess everyone born into a family called Punch would have had that thought sooner or later. I wasn't so sure about my parents, but neither had I been with them for a good three or four years, by now.

It didn't matter, though. Following the mare's instructions, I wouldn't take long to find the room I was looking for. The concerning door presented the number 213 in stained brass letters on its uppermost portion. While not very luxurious either, it certainly did look a lot more homely than the entrance area had. In general, the hotel's upper floor made a much more inviting sight than what lay below. At least up here, the white walls were hidden behind some beige wallpaper, and a dark-brownish carpet effectively covered the linoleum floor. The style it was decorated looked ancient at best, and the wallpaper already peeling off at some places, but I'd prefer it over nothing at any time.

My room was decorated scarcely, but it contained all I needed. It even had an outside window, located opposite from the door. There was an old bed with a frame made of steel pipes on the far right, and a desk situated right below said window. A wooden stool was placed in front of it. There was a simple light bulb hanging from the ceiling, held up by nothing but the wires that also powered it. Another door was placed into the left-hand wall.

I quickly closed the entrance door, then dropped my ragged saddlebags, and rushed over to take a look at my bathroom. Luckily, there really was a bathtub in here. I would have thanked Celestia for the occasion, hadn't I given up on that sort of thing a long time ago. I still didn't hesitate to turn on the hot water, and have the entire basin fill up to the top. The only other thing on my mind right now were my saddlebags, but I decided to have their condition drag me down at some other time. I didn't need that, now.

As the tub was only halfway full, my hooves started came down inside it one-by-one. Ignoring the water's excessive heat, I slowly but steadily submerged myself into the almost boiling liquid. I didn't really care about the temperature, though. The effects of the heat were pretty much negligible compared to the wonderful sensation of a whole week's worth of sweat and dirt loosening themselves off my coat all at once.

I sighed in relief as the warmth slowly surrounded me on all sides. Maybe nice things still existed in this world, after all.

Bagged River

Of all the things that I'd predicted about the place, one certainly turned out to be true. The coffee during breakfast really did taste like donkey piss. Not that I ever tasted anything similar to compare it to, but this coffee got me as close as my imagination ever wanted to carry me. Of course, it's not like I hadn't predicted it, either.

Apart from breakfast, Monday mornings in Manehattan seemed to be alright; at least, I felt more motivated than I usually did at that time of the week. I woke up as early as six in the morning, the thought of actually doing something with my life constantly in the back of my head, for once. It was more of an irrational feeling, since I didn't actually believe in any future success on my part at the time, but it was better than nothing.

After quickly brushing my teeth, I tucked yesterday's paper between my jaws, then headed downstairs for a bite to eat. They didn't provide any toothbrushes anywhere around here it seemed, so I just had to use the one I took from some other place a few weeks ago. I don't know whether they'd wanted to keep it or not, but neither could I imagine why anyone would do that. The thought itself sounded somewhat repulsive to me.

Breakfast was pretty much like I was used to have it. They had some baskets full of oats and apples, along with the coffee that tasted like donkey piss. I sat down at a lone table in the room's far corner, hoping to remain alone for the rest of my meal, too. I was sort of longing for some solitude right now, especially since none of the ponies in this place made me feel very eager to talk to them. I figured I'd somehow gotten myself into another wastebasket for all sorts of bums and town drunks, who wanted to at least spend the night in a bit of dignity. As I always did. Of course, I probably was one of them already in a way or another, even if I didn't like to admit that. Most of the time, anyway. I held the newspaper up to my face shortly after sitting down, hoping everyone in the room would take the hint that I wasn't one for conversations, right now.

I think I got that working for me just fine. At least, nopony else approached me for a good while. I skipped ahead through the daily news, looking instead for a hint about any possible employment ads. Every halfway decent paper usually had a whole page filled with those, almost all the time. And the Times wouldn't disappoint me, although I had to skim through the largest section before I got there.

I didn't have a pen with me. I used to have one, but I couldn't find it when looking for it this morning. What I did find was a torn piece of cardboard at the bottom of my left saddlebag, joining the hole that had already appeared below. Most likely, the pen had gotten lost somewhere along the way. Which was just as well, only I couldn't circle any ads that interested me, as I normally would do at this point. This way, I simply had to go with whatever appealing suggestion I found first. It looked like an acceptable one, too.

The third ad in from the bottom seemed like the most appealing one. I always start reading them from the bottom, I don't know why. Probably because these would be most likely to accept me. Companies who paid most always got the top spots, meaning the lowest ones also had the lowest standards. Which, in turn, meant that they most likely couldn't afford anything better than me. Anyway, number three was the first one that really caught my eye. The other two didn't apply to me in the first place. Those were about some menial trash, and they always only look for stallions in those jobs. Because they've got more physical strength, I think that is. I don't know. I don't really agree with it, either. But there's nothing I can change about common misconceptions.

The third one wasn't like them, though. It mentioned something about cardboard packages. The company behind it apparently produced and shipped those, and they needed somepony to help with packing the packages...into other packages. So they could be sent overseas or whatever. Despite my recent experiences with cardboard, I decided to give it a try. The address provided wasn't so far off, either. Only about six or seven blocks away, that was. I could have taken a cab, but I didn't want to. I never used any means of transport more expensive than my own hooves, except maybe for long distances.

After successfully memorizing the address, I drowned the last bit of my coffee. The sour taste it left on my tongue made me feel sick even more. I briefly returned to my room to rinse my mouth with water from the tap, then immediately headed out. With a bit of luck, I could already run a full shift today.

The packaging company was located in a small factory building on West 34th. The pony who ran the business was a greasy, old stallion somewhere in his late fifties, I think. In any case, I figured retirement and everything connected to it would come for him sooner or later. Probably sooner, judging from some of his tastes which I noticed right away.

First off, he was a heavy smoker. The walls in his office were already fading to yellow near the ceiling, and a constant, sickening smell of tobacco hung all across the little room. I supposed the only way to remove the stench would be blowing the whole place to smithereens or something. And he seemed to keep at it. Even as I came in, he was seated behind his desk with a thick, brown cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth. There was a framed picture in between two cupboards on the left-hand wall, showing him shaking hooves with some other stallion I'd never seen before. Probably a local big shot or something. He couldn't be all that impressive though, seeing how his mane looked like a corn crop or something.

Whatever. The stallion behind the desk looked up from his forms and papers with mild interest, as I walked in. "Bringing in the mail?" he asked. "What happened to the other guy? Did he get sick, again?"

"I'm not the mailmare," I retorted, somewhat professionally. Whatever that even meant. "I just wanted to ask if that ad from the papers is still valid. The one you posted the other day."

His features lit up. "Ah! This is about the job. Yes, yes. Of course, it's still available." He motioned to the chair opposite from himself. "Why don't you sit down, and we'll discuss the matter?"

I did.

"Now, since you've gone through our ad, I trust you already have an idea what your task within our little organization would be. Still, I would be glad if you could tell me a few things about yourself. Future partners should know the worst about each other." He wandered off for a moment, giggling at his own joke. Or at least, that's what he probably tried to do. Halfway through, he began to violently choke on his own breath or something, blue smoke flaring out of his nostrils as he did. It wasn't a big surprise, really. If I had to sit in this room every day, I'd probably be suffocating after less than a week. Though he did make a rather quick recovery.

"Well...now, where were we?" He leaned forward, trying his best to look professional. "Ah, yes. I suggest we start with a few basic things, Miss..."

"Punch. Berry Punch." I did my best not to groan, as I told him. The old stallion showed little to no reaction, but I could tell it wasn't what he expected. Of course not. If only they didn't have to ask for my name first, every time.

"Oh, uh...well..." he stuttered, unable to compensate whether I was being serious or just making fun of him, it seemed. "...well, that's just as well. Rhombus Dodger, nice to meet you. Tell me, Miss Punch, what kind of job experiences did you make, so far? I trust there was something similar to our field?"

"It contains a broad variety of fields," I replied. Something that was much of an automatic response, by now. One that always worked, especially in interviews. It also sounded a lot better than 'I'm a mess who has no clue what to do with their life.' The stallion still arched an eyebrow at my response.

"A broad variety, you say?" he said. "That is a pretty far-fetched term, if I may say so. Could you...maybe elaborate on that a bit?"

"Oh, well. Where to start?" I lamented, with the tiniest bit of an ironic undertone. "I consider myself an artist of sorts. As such, I've worked in all sorts of industries, with all sorts of different ponies. Inspiration comes in the strangest places, I always say."

"An artist?"

"Yes. I paint. Expressionism and Neo-Avant-Garde, to be precise. I especially prefer drawing landscapes. The more photogenic, the better. They really capture the essence of a pony's soul from its innermost circles."

The stallion deadpanned at my description. Much like most ponies I met in positions like his, he hadn't the slightest idea what I was talking about. And to be fair, I didn't have a clue, either. I'm actually pretty sure neither of those two art styles have anything to do with landscapes. Maybe they weren't even connected to painting at all.

There was one thing about my words that was true, however. I really had some experience in bringing the art of nature on a piece of canvas. Said experience might be limited to a single picture of a tree that I did in fifth grade, but it still earned me the highest grade in my class. In short, there had to be some sort of talent resting with me, didn't there?

"Well...fantastic," Mr Dodger eventually continued. "Fantastic, no, really. I really do prefer to work with ponies who can envision themselves doing great things. Ponies like you tend to be much more motivated with what they're doing."

I suppose that was one way to look at things. And it seemed to go pretty well for me, so I decided to move along with it.

"You do have a vision, don't you, miss Punch?"

I snapped out of my thoughts. What did he even mean by that?

"Oh, of course," I replied, nevertheless. "Ponies sometimes tell me I could never be destined to go far in life because I don't have a proper education. But that kind of doubt is just all the more motivating. The more ponies there are doubting me today, the more faces I will have to laugh into, once my artworks will make it to the top. So, yes, I do have a vision. And I'm sure that, together, we can make it happen. My artistic vision combined with your expertise in running a business, I mean. This job I'm applying for might be simple now, but it can get both of us far up, that much I can tell you!"

I couldn't believe the words coming out of my own mouth. To be honest, had anypony else said them, I probably would have laughed at how ridiculous everything about it just sounded. But not him. Fascination was almost drooling from his eyes, as he hung at my lips with every further syllable I added. To be honest, no other employer of mine had ever made such a fuss about the simple lie I used as an excuse to cover up the actual mess my life was. Maybe, I thought, coming here wasn't such a good idea, after all.

"Well, I don't know about that," he finally added after due moments of consideration. "But you certainly are a motivated pony, and that's just what we're looking for! Plus, I don't see any competition lining up anytime soon. So I'd say: Congratulations! You got the job."

He extended one hoof across the table. It was the same with which he'd occasionally pour his cigar ashes into the nearby tray.

I felt somewhat hesitant to accept the hoofshake. But I also needed the money, so I did it, anyway.

"I'm ready to begin at any time," I added. The sooner I got a full pay the better, after all.

Mr Dodger nodded, seemingly pleased with my partly sincere enthusiasm. "Good. Very good. We'll just fill out a few forms real quick, and then we're good to go. The boys down at the line will show you how everything works. Just go down the outside stairs right after, and tell them you're the new kid."

He shoved a paper over to my side, along with a pen. Seeing the latter, I immediately felt reminded about the pen that I'd lost earlier. Which brought to mind several ideas on what to do with this one. They were all illegal of course, and they would cost me any chance I still had in receiving this job, so I dismissed them without further thought. Instead, I filled out the personal information he needed for whatever reason, then made myself ready to head out. Although I did notice a slight inconsistency while doing so. The form clearly stated something about a nine to five job. And yet, it was only still eight-thirty.

I knew this had been a bad idea. Starting off with unpaid overtime always was. And I already needed to fight the urge to call him a son of a...

Well, I didn't, in any case. I still needed his money, after all.

Methanol

The job turned out to be even simpler than I expected. When reading about packing packages in the paper, I thought of it as some play of words or a local inside joke, maybe. It wasn't, though. I literally had to take packages of two different sizes, unfold the larger one, put about twenty of the smaller ones inside (those were still folded), then seal the large one with some tape, and move on to the next.

It still felt like a sick joke, but at least the payment seemed right. According to contract, I'd receive a solid six-hundred each month. That sounded like a fair deal. So, before I was going to judge the entire task, I'd first have to see on how consistent the money was. Though boring and tiring it may have been. Or something like that.

There were two other ponies on the line with me, a mare and a stallion, to be precise. Why our employer earlier referred to them as the boys was beyond me, though. I didn't really bother to learn their names. Chances were, I wouldn't ever need to call them over for anything. And I couldn't find anything particularly interesting that made me want to talk to them, either. The mare was a good deal older than me, and the stallion despite being about my age, wasn't a very attractive one. I'm pretty arrogant about standards when it comes to these things. Which might be a bad thing, but I don't really care about it.

What I cared about was getting paid. And probably something, which rhymes with that...anyhow. Eight hours of pointless labor a day, interrupted by a half hour of lunch sometime around noon better be worth it. Lunch break was just about long enough to get one or two daisy sandwiches chewed up at the cafe across the block. More importantly, it meant thirty valuable minutes each day that I didn't have to spent doing something that bored me to death. And all of us could still go home at five, so I guess the job was only seven and a half hours. Not every employment comes with that kind of privilege, and I tried my best to recognize and cherish it. I really did.

I kept going and pulled through, telling myself how the paycheck would justify the means. Three full days, I went on like that. For these three days, I played the part of the happy little citizen that Equestria always wants to see. Doing their job, getting their pay, building a better future. Something like that. It was a challenge too, it really was.

When my shift ended on Wednesday night however, I decided I deserved some recognition for keeping up the good work. A self-proclaimed pat on the shoulder, so to speak. I had finished off more than two-hundred package packages that week, and I already felt sick by just looking at them. If I weren't so lethargic, I'd have wondered what in Equestria ever happened to each of these after I finished them. But I didn't care.

There was a liquor store about halfway to my place, and I had already taken a few curious peeks at it during the past two days. It wasn't until today's evening that I decided to take a look around inside, just for the hell of it. Maybe they had some decent products to sale. Or maybe they just offered the stuff that I could afford. Either way, I promised myself it was going to be an interesting ride, going in. I eventually ended up wasting the last bit of my cash on two bottles of white wine. I think it was three years old at the time, but it might have been four or five. I'm not sure why I bought it, or even why I needed two bottles instead of just one. Probably because I couldn't think of anything more useful to spend my money on.

I went straight on home from there, both bottles tucked into a paper bag, which was now dangling from my mouth. It seemed like the most reasonable thing to do. After all, there wasn't anything else I could have done without any means of payment left for anything. And anything just about describes the things that don't come for free in Manehattan. So, I decided I'd rather go home and cherish the things that I already paid for.

I entered the building with a slight rumbling coming from my stomach. Of course, I hadn't eaten anything all day, safe for the scarce breakfast this morning and the sandwiches for lunch. I tried to ignore the hunger for now, seeing as the wine would somehow get me through the evening. I had no idea how many calories either of these bottles contained, but they should be sufficient. Then again, they only had me covered for tonight. After that, I would quickly lack the means to get any more food, safe for breakfast. And even that would only last until Sunday. After that, my week in the hotel that I'd paid for would be over already.

Seeing it from this perspective, my earlier decisions might have been a little short-sighted.

I shrugged off the thought, and proceeded up the stairs. I had managed to spot an out of order sign on the ground floor the day before, which told me that the elevator really was broken. Staircase it was, then. Each and every day. But compared to this new job of mine, the routine of charging up an endless spiral of stairs didn't cause me much of a disturbance.

When I arrived on the eighth floor, I greeted the mare at the counter with a simple nod. Or at least, I tried to do so. She didn't look up from whatever it was she was currently working on, so she probably hadn't even noticed me. I initially wanted to speak up and greet her out loud as a result. But I figured I'd just be making an idiot out of myself, and just kept going on ahead. As always, I hardly met anypony else out in the hallways. In this place, it seemed like nopony ever left their room for mere socializing. If someone walked to and fro across the corridors, they were either headed out or going to have breakfast. Neither of which was the case, right now.

I headed straight for my room, where I tossed the bag with my shopping items on the bed. I first thought about taking another bath, but I didn't really feel like it. I don't know why. Sometimes, I'm just not into things which I'd otherwise enjoy. Which may sound weird, but that's the way it is.

Turning back towards my latest purchase instead, I fumbled around my saddlebags for a good five minutes or so, in search of my corkscrew. I always carried one of those around with me. They can come in handy pretty much whenever, but mostly when it comes to opening bottles. And that was where the challenge lay, right now. An exhale of relief left my muzzle when I finally found it between all the other trash. I already thought I'd lost that one, too. Good thing I hadn't.

Without further ado, I fell back onto my haunches, back gently rested against my mattress. I pulled one of the bottles out of its bag, then got to work on it right after. It's easy to feel jealous about unicorns at times like these. With all their magical abilities, they probably wouldn't even have to use a tool. They could just do a little pulling-thing with their horn, and no damage done. Yet here I was, clenching the screw between my teeth, while slowly and carefully turning the bottle counter-clockwise direction, my jaws pushing downward.

Again, the whole procedure, though successful it was, must have looked incredibly stupid. I always feel like a moron with things that would be so much easier to handle with telekinesis. Surely, there were perks to being an earth pony, but I failed to see them. There also were some ponies who told me I should cherish the special connection to the earth beneath our hooves, which my race particularly enjoys. I don't know. I couldn't care less, I think.

It took me less than a few more seconds to unscrew the bottle, no less. After some years of experience, this sort of thing just comes natural. Much like riding a scooter or something. In any case, I didn't need to let any more precious time go to waste. I spat out the corkscrew, then lifted the bottle to the height of my face. Gently then, I started tilting it towards my muzzle, until finally my lips connected with the cold glass.

I felt a shiver run along my spine, as the first drops of the sweet liquid started dripping down my throat. It wasn't even the kind of shiver a pony gets whenever they're cold. It felt pretty good, and...satisfying, I guess. In an odd way.

I kept going, gulping down the wine bit by bit. Before I even noticed, I'd already finished half the bottle. Which is why I looked at it with some surprise after putting it back down. Of course, at that point I hadn't had a drink in...what? One week? Maybe two? I really couldn't remember. Thanks to my empty stomach, I already started feeling dizzy as well, and decided I'd rather raise myself up onto the bed, just in case. Never spilling a single drop along the way was still my first priority.

Somehow, I managed to accomplish just that. I think. Again, it might as well be that some of it spilled over, and I just didn't notice. Once on the bed, I flopped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. The brilliant light coming from the bulb made me squint a few times, but I got used to it after a minute or so. All the while the bottle rested gently beside me, one of my forelegs carefully wrapped around its neck. In a slow and somewhat tired motion, I tilted my head over to look at it for a moment.

For some odd reason, I smiled at it, absently murmuring, "You're gonna kill me one day." Then, I finished the rest of the wine.

I'm not so sure what happened next. I think my hoof's grip around the bottle eventually loosened, and at some point, it just rolled over the edge of the mattress and dropped onto the carpet below. Whatever. The carpet wasn't in such a good state, either. For a while then, I simply kept lying on my back and continued to stare up at the ceiling, my breath going calm and relaxed. I tried to figure out what the next decent plan of action would be, but my brain didn't seem all too eager to cooperate.

Of course, when the rational mind can't figure out what to do, it's sometimes just basic instinct that takes over. As was the case in this specific situation, when a well-known urge started to rise up inside of me, originating from a certain region somewhere in between my hindlegs. My features fell into a stupid grin as I realized what was going on, and even that took me a few seconds.

I tried to sit up and reach over towards my lap with a hoof, only for my head to drop right back onto the mattress. I tried again. And again. It was no use. Whenever I got anywhere near an upright position, the world started to spin all around, sending me straight back down. I can't remember exactly, but I think I didn't like that very much.

Unable to think of anything else, I turned around onto my belly, then buried my face into the pillow with all the frustration I could muster. As much as I hated to admit it, it seemed that treating my basic natural urges had to wait for another day. I really didn't enjoy the thought, but I couldn't change the facts. Or maybe I could, and a proper solution just slipped my mind, right now.

Lying there motionlessly, I managed to let out an annoyed groan. Still, I took solace in the prospect that, maybe sometime around the weekend, I'd run into some halfway decent stallion willing to fuck me. I don't know. I kinda felt like I needed that right now. Of course, a mare can always take care of business herself whenever she's not as intoxicated. Even if it wasn't the most elegant solution. I'd have asked around in the hotel too, but I didn't really feel like doing any smelly homeless pony...thingy...stuff...

My thoughts started starving to death somewhere around that point. I turned my head to the right in order to be able to breathe properly. Just before I slowly drifted off to sleep, despite the lights still being on. In my current state, that didn't really matter.

Somewhere along the way, I decided that I really, really hated this town.

Just Business

I woke up to a stinging pain in my head, a burning hatred for myself, and the irrevocable urge to puke. A short glimpse at the time told me it was already two in the afternoon, and that I messed up tremendously. When I started getting up on my wobbly legs, I already thought it couldn't get any worse. However, a sour pulp would rise up in my throat, thus instantly proving me wrong. In a sense of panic, I leaped off the bed, and raced clear across the room. Crashing through the bathroom door, I bowed my head over the toilet just in time to empty the contents of my stomach into it.

At least it didn't go onto the carpet, I told myself. The whole place didn't look very well insured, and I probably couldn't afford paying for the damage.

As soon as I was done, I turned back around and awkwardly shuffled back towards my bed. Once there, I climbed on top and fell to my side almost immediately. My head and neck felt like somepony would shove a screwdriver through either of them, and I honestly wanted someone to bulge in right then and just shoot me or something. I wouldn't have been mad at them. Well actually, I probably couldn't have.

It was moments like these that I came to hate myself. Not that I didn't hate myself on any other day as well, but waking up with an aching skull like this one increased the feeling about tenfold. Even more so when the direction that last night's thoughts had taken slowly returned to my memory. None of it surprised me, but it didn't exactly contribute to my self-esteem, either. Stuff like that always wanders through my skull when I drink too much. Which is also why I prefer getting drunk all by myself over doing so in public. That way, at least I won't embarrass myself.

Drunk me can get a bit misleading, I suppose. I'm not usually this desperate. True, I don't really hesitate to get my natural desires fulfilled whenever I feel like doing so and when presented with the proper opportunity. And even those occasions have gotten more and more rare over the past years. I think. The first time I ever did it was ages ago, already. At the age of thirteen...or fourteen, or something like that. With some random kid during or after some random school dance, I think. I can't recall his name, though. Or what he looked like. Only that he wasn't the most favorable option I might have gotten. Oh well. Twenty-twenty vision, and all that.

By the time I was able to grasp any sort of useful thought, time had processed to four-thirty in the afternoon. Which meant my shift would have been almost over, and there was nothing I could do about it, now. I don't know. Some workplaces allow their employees to call in sick a couple days late, even. All I needed was a good excuse. Mr Dodger didn't seem like the smart kind, anyway.

For now, I was left alone with my own miserable feelings. That wasn't so good. I really didn't have anything else to do, and a sense of gnawing hunger already made itself noticeable around my stomach. Now, I would have headed out for some sightseeing, then grabbed some junk food along the way, but there were several problems with that. First, I was still broke. Second, I didn't give a damn about any famous places or something of the like, no matter how amazing any of them were said to be. It's just not my field of interest.

Realizing there wasn't anything for me to do in my room except maybe drown in self-pity, I decided to grab my keys and head out, nevertheless. I didn't know where I'd be going, but neither did I see any other choice. When I came trotting out of the hotel's backyard and out onto the street, I spontaneously decided to head south. For no particular reason, that was. I just felt like going there.

For a long time then, I was alone with my thoughts. Apart from avoiding other pedestrians, I didn't really have to watch out for my environment. There weren't any turns for me to take, either. Apparently, these roads never took any turns, except if you wanted to turn around a corner. Manehattan was one of those cities where the streets all just form a homogeneous, boring grid. The broad, grayish sidewalk goes on and on for miles, with no end ever in sight. Eventually, I lost track of the time. But it must have been a good two hours until the street finally stopped continuing on ahead.

The sun was setting in the west by now, drowning the entire peninsula in some weird kind of semi-twilight made up from the long shadows of buildings and a few, narrow lanes of sun rays made possible by the streets in between. When gazing out onto the water, I thought I could spot the Statue of Friendship in the distance. That at least gave me an approximate idea where in the city I ended up. Because that's where Friendship Island lay, south of mainland Manehattan. For once, there was a fact from grade school I could actually recall.

For a while then, I pondered my options. I didn't really know where to go from here, and a bad hunch told me that I might easily get lost in the city's maze, despite the rather simple way it was structured. It's not like I cared all that much, but I would prefer to sleep in my own bed tonight rather than...pretty much wherever. I didn't want to head straight back, either. Not right now, anyway. That would be kind of a bummer. And depressing, too. I really didn't need that.

I decided to take a look at a nearby tourist stand, instead. My interest wasn't so much about the souvenirs, but they also offered boat trips over to the island, apparently. I don't know what I'd do over there, either. Except for looking at a giant copper statue, of course. Maybe I just wanted to take a peek below her tunic, see what I could get out of it. I don't know, probably not. The thought still made me snicker for a moment or so.

It didn't matter, either way. When approaching, I also noticed them charging two bits per passenger. So there went those plans of mine.

It was no use. None of it ever was. I turned back around without further comment, then headed back down the street I came from. I can't recall its name, I really can't. But it probably didn't even have one. None of the streets or addresses in this town had any names, just numbers. That, and the slight distinction between streets and avenues. In all honesty, I was surprised to see that at least the ponies in this place still had actual names to themselves, instead of assigned numbers. Or maybe they hadn't, and I just didn't realize that. Maybe they didn't realize it.

I don't know. I really don't.

By the time I arrived back at the hotel it was a little past nine in the evening. For some reason, the streets were still crowded, even now. In most places around Equestria, this would be the time where most ponies either go to sleep, or turn on their radios for the evening report or something. Around nine or ten, a city would generally turn itself over to the soft, velvet blanket of night. The one that Celestia's long lost sister once created for all of us to enjoy, I think that was. She had a name, too. I'm pretty sure she did.

Manehattan didn't go to sleep, it seemed. Then again, Manehattan wasn't truly a city either. It was more like a grotesquely carnivorous metropolis; one that equally supplied and devoured everyone and everything within it. Places like these didn't sleep. And I hated them.

I turned the lights on when stepping back inside my room. It certainly wasn't something I enjoyed, given the bright light blinded me for a second, and sent another aching arrow of pain searing through my skull. But I didn't want to stumble across anything my clumsy self might break in the process. Never sleeping surroundings or not, the street lights sure didn't reach up all eight floors.

But flicking that little switch was pretty much the only productive thing I could think of, right now. Clueless on how to waste the rest of my evening, I kept pointlessly fooling around the place for another hour or so. Eventually though, I got tired. Literally. And driven by that, I quickly killed my second bottle of wine and went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up at about eleven. It was a Friday, too. And only about six hours to my first weekend in Manehattan. I had no idea on how I was supposed to spend it, but at least those two days might give me some time to think. About what, I didn't know. Before heading out for work, I rounded up a few leftovers from breakfast, altogether avoiding the coffee. At about twelve, I arrived at the company grounds. Mr Dodger immediately called me into his office when I got there.

"May I know where you've been these past two days, Miss Punch?" he asked. Of course he did. "You seemed like somepony who could manage quite well in our industry when first coming into my office on Monday. But success requires some basic consistency. Surely, there is a reasonable explanation behind your absence."

All of a sudden, he sounded all business-like. Serious, too. I already didn't like his approach on Monday, but I think I disliked it even more, now. Probably. Even worse, I now had to talk to him, and spent more time in his stinky office. I had wanted to come up with an excuse on my way here, but I couldn't think of anything. Well, actually I wanted to do all that yesterday night. But then I sort of forgot and drank a whole bottle of white wine. Naturally, I didn't come up with anything useful after that. In short, I figured I might as well tell the truth, and hope for the best.

"There is. I got drunk and overslept," I thus replied in a monotone voice.

Judging from Mr Dodger's reaction, the best wasn't going to be so good. Not for me, anyway. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling heavily. I don't even want to start describing the smell that came streaming out of his muzzle. Chances are, I'd lack the vocabulary to do so, in any case.

"That's not how it works, girl. You should know that." He shook his head. "I tend to let some minor inconsistencies slide with ponies whom I've known for a longer time. Ponies I can trust. But this? I'm sorry, but I don't see myself employing someone acting this way right from the start."

I scowled. "So, I won't have to call in on Monday, then?"

"You really, really don't," he replied in a slightly annoyed tone. His eyes narrowed, while both rows of yellowish teeth kept munching on his cigar. It was a disgusting sight, but I still needed his money.

"What would be my pay for the five days I've worked here, then?"

"Five days?" he snorted. "I think what you meant to say is three days. And your pay for those adds up to precisely eighty-five bits. That's all. No more, no less. I don't see why I should pay you for days on which you don't even show up at your workplace."

Having said so, he slammed an envelope onto the desk between us, then leaned back in his chair, again. I peeked inside, checked for its ingredients, and was happy to find four green paper slips resting next to each other. That was something. I would have made an argument about getting a bonus for the time I had to endure his presence today, but my better conscience decided against that. I also really didn't want to push my luck. Instead, I took the envelope between my teeth, then trotted out. I tried to mumble some sort of goodbyes in between the paper, but it probably didn't sound very convincing. In any case, Mr Dodger briefly raised a hoof to reply, then went back to his paperwork.

He might as well, I thought. In a way, I was more of a lucky mare never having to set a single hoof into his slimy office ever again.

Back Door

I can't fully recall what happened after that. A large part of that day remains something of a black hole in my memory. I only remember not being so sure on how to feel about the situation as a whole. Losing my job, and all that. The downside to what had happened was pretty obvious. Once again, I screwed up what was supposed to be another fresh start. And this time around, it even took me less then a week to accomplish that. Although I speak to my defense when saying it really had been a boring and monotonous job. And one about which I didn't have a very good feeling right from the start.

The upside to my situation waited for me inside the envelope I received. With this amount of cash, I wouldn't have to worry about a lot of things that were bugging me before. For a brief period of time at least. I also considered these few bits to be a better option than starving to death while waiting for my regular paycheck. I didn't have a lot of actual ideas on what to spend any of my newly received money on at the time, but the right opportunity would most likely come around sooner or later.

When I got tired of trying to carefully consider my options, I think I took another trip to the liquor store. Once there, I bought another bottle of the white wine from the other day. Since there wasn't any special upcoming occasion to actually save it for, I figured I might as well kill the bottle on the go. After that, I kept strolling around the city halfway conscious. So like I said, I was kind of having a blackout during most of the afternoon and evening.

Some time around midnight, I eventually ended up back at the hotel. For unknown reasons, my eighty-five bits were now down to thirty. I don't even remember where most of them went. There's always the possibility that - against the better part of my memories - I bought some more expensive wine than I should have, but it wasn't very likely. Chances were, I simply got mugged or something.

Saturday went by without being ever eventful or anything. I spent some more of my bits on some decent food over the day, although I still went for the free breakfast in the morning. Without the coffee, of course. I didn't need any caffeine on the weekends, anyway.

Apart from that, I really spent most of the day just wandering around the city again. I didn't limit myself to a single street this time, either. My plan was to take a few more glimpses at Manehattan, hoping to somehow still change my less than favorable opinion about it. And of course I got lost several times, although I always got myself back on track one way or another. I even visited the Statue of Friendship, but the peek below her tunic didn't work, apparently. There wasn't anything there but dull, greenish copper plates. That bummed me out a bit. I went back to the city's mainland part with the next possible opportunity, about ten minutes after arriving on the small island.

As for the rest of Manehattan, I really couldn't find anything interesting to say. I'm not the sort pf pony with a very colorful imagination, but the city wasn't very colorful, either. Safe for the massive amount of horribly annoying billboards, the streets mostly merged into a boring gray. Most of them were flanked by concrete skyscrapers on either side, all of them looking alike. The only green spot in this homogeneous maze seemed to be a rather large park that was situated more or less in the peninsula's central portion. There wasn't any creatively shaped, individual name to it, either. I really didn't know what I expected.

By the time the evening rolled around again, I'd put a good overall distance of ten to fifteen miles or so behind me. My head began to get heavier with each passing minute now, and my legs felt incredibly soar. Even though the day was essentially wasted, I figured there wouldn't be any point in trying to do anything useful with the evening. I'd get a few drinks at a local bar, then call it a day. Simple as that.

Originally, I still wanted to purchase another edition of the Manehattan Times and look for a new job, but I decided to postpone doing so until Monday. It wasn't as urgent, anyway. After all, I still had some leftover cash to take care of myself. For two or three more days, at least. Whenever I'd go broke or near-broke, there would be more than enough time for me to get reasonable again.

The bar I ended up picking out was situated in a narrow alleyway, more or less close to my hotel. I only had to walk two or three blocks down the street, I think. That was somewhat important; going home after a couple of drinks could be somewhat dangerous in a place like this. But as long as it wasn't anything beyond a few blocks, I should be fine.

Still, I reminded myself that I'd like to keep it to one beer tonight. Not every day has to end in a disaster with stinging headaches, mind you. And I already had my share for this week, all things considered. There wasn't any need to embarrass myself in public any further. I really didn't need to do that, I kept telling myself.

Did I mention that I've got some terrible self-control? Because one beer only went by rather quick, and my glass ended up empty much sooner than I anticipated. Following that unpleasant surprise, I quickly came to disregard everything about my earlier attitude. That way, one beer turned into three, and three quickly became five.

I had wanted to stop after the fourth one, I really did. No matter what, even I sometimes realize when I've had enough of something. I'd have accomplished to quit my drinking for the rest of the evening, too. Or at least, I would have done that if it were only for myself to decide.

Unfortunately, the bar also hosted some random stallion and his colleagues from work that night. Apparently, he had earned himself a promotion earlier that day, and that needed to be celebrated or something. Just when I finished my personal number four, he announced the next round would be on him. Which included everyone in the room. And I never ever turned down a free mug of beer in my life. There's generally not many things I can be proud of, looking back. But this would be one of the few exceptions.

I don't know. Five it was, then. Paid for by somepony whom I never even met before. But someone who gave out free drinks couldn't be so bad a fellow. Probably. I really didn't know him, after all. Maybe he was somepony worth knowing. Or maybe just another moron. I couldn't say for sure.

Pretty much out of curiosity, I started introducing myself to one of his friends who was just getting a Martini from the bar. Given my intoxication at the time, that approach most likely went a little less elegant that I envisioned it. Still, he didn't seem to mind. He even figured he might get both of us a drink, then stick around and chat a little for whatever reason.

Often enough, I'm not myself when drunk. And that reflected on my current situation just as well as any. Like we agreed on, both of us stayed at the bar for a while, having another drink or maybe two. I don't exactly remember. I recall that at some point I noticed him being pretty attractive. For a city like this, I mean. Even though Manehattan males are probably no less disgusting than everywhere else. Maybe he wasn't even as good-looking, and that was just the alcohol talking.

In any case, I thought so at the time. One thing led to another after that, and we eventually ended up doing it in the males' bathroom. Somehow, these kinds of things always take place in the male section of pretty much anything. It wouldn't be possible with mares around; they'd be too grossed out or something. For reasons I didn't understand though, stallions didn't mind their fellow sausage-bearers going at it in each others' personal space. Or maybe that was just another misconception of mine, given from a lack of fully conscious experience. I didn't really care, either way.

He was pretty good at his trade, too. At least, he lasted long enough to get both of us satisfied. It's kind of sad that a simple thing like this automatically places a stallion above average. But there's also a lot of selfish jerks out there. Doing business with them usually results in having to flick the bean all by yourself for a good few minutes afterwards. I don't think there were any other times at which I hated myself or my life as much. Except maybe all the others. Or none. What's it to me, anyway?

When I came back to the hotel, I discovered my saddlebags lying in front of the entrance door. They had been flung open, making their contents spread out all across the eighth floor's landing. Counting all the items that were still there, I found them to be nothing short of what there needed to be. At least, nothing was gone that I hadn't lost already. Which didn't help very much, sine I still didn't have any idea why my belongings had been kicked out like that. And when I tried opening the door to find out, it wouldn't move. Somepony seemed to have locked it from the inside.

That was awfully strange. I could tell as much, even in my current, half-asleep state. Something was off; this door had never been locked, after all. I tried opening it with the key to my room, but it didn't fit. Mindlessly, I tried to push it in there a few more times, before I had to give up. All the while, my gaze was locked either on the key itself or the stupid wooden plaque and the number 213, which kept staring back at me like some sort of crazy serial killer or something.

I fell back onto my haunches, and kept sitting like that for a good five minutes or so, trying to sober up and figure out what had happened. When it finally came back to me, I remembered that some hotels had this weird policy where a week always started on Sundays. Which also meant that this day wouldn't be included in the week before, and not in the week's pay, either. It sounded strange in the context, but it also was the only explanation that made at least a bit of sense.

So, I'd been kicked out. Wasn't that just great. This is why I don't like Sundays. Anyhow...

Whoever treated their customers this way didn't seem to be in desperate need for them, either. There wasn't anypony around here to complain to, and I didn't. I gathered up all the belongings that still remained with me and stuffed them back into my saddlebags.

When everything was back where it needed to be, I gave the door one last, pointless glare and headed back downstairs. Before I left the building, however, the remaining levels of alcohol in my bloodstream caused me to spin around one last time and shout "So long, suckers!" at the top of my lungs. With a stupid giggle, I headed outside.

It started raining, again. Of course it did. It hardly mattered to me. I already decided this city wasn't going to be the place for me to stay. For some reason, I just wanted to leave right now, I don't know why. The rain probably didn't bring about my ultimate decision to skip town, but it most definitely was the final nail in the coffin. Marching back out onto the street, I turned to the right and headed back towards where I recalled the central station would be.

Since I didn't have anything better to do, I figured I might as well take a trip to Baltimare. I could pay a short visit to my parents, assuming they still lived down there. Although I probably wouldn't get myself to do it, in the end. Chances were, I wouldn't be able to gather the courage for that. If I had, I'd probably have gotten back together with them ages ago, instead of wasting all those years out west.

It's not like I explicitly missed them or anything. The only time I ever felt that way was right after I first ran off. But emotions or not, I thought it might be nice to get back together for a few days, or exchange some old memories. There would be something I could come up with. Maybe they'd even be glad to see me after all this time.

Or, y'know, whatever. I wouldn't get myself to see them, anyway. My argument didn't have to make sense. Besides, I still hadn't completely sobered up, either. When I arrived at the station, I bought the ticket to Baltimare, but I also doubted there would be anything useful to come off it.

My enthusiasm already received a minor bummer, when getting to know about the time my train was supposed to leave. They told me I had to wait until six in the morning, but I could do that. For all the terminal building was worth, at least the rain wouldn't bother me in here.

Apart from that, there were more than enough benches in this place. They looked pretty comfy, too. I approached one of them, seeing as how I deserved at least a few hours of rest.

Positively Negative

The trip to Baltimare took a bit longer than expected. Our train had to take a break at about halfway because a flock of sheep were blocking the tracks. I'm pretty sure they didn't mean to do that, but it wouldn't help me, in any case. These woolly numbnuts rarely have anything more complex in mind than the grass beneath their hooves, or whatever else they find to gobble up. As far as I was concerned, they probably weren't even able to knowingly harm anyone.

This way, our train was forced to halt for several hours in the middle of nowhere, and we didn't get to our destination before noon. Personally, I didn't mind the delay so much. I wasn't in any hurry, and the more time I spent traveling the more hours it meant for me to sleep. These cushioned benches that Equestrian Railways plants across pretty much any of their vehicles make for a perfect place to nap. Or at least, they would have, hadn't it been for the important-looking businesspony sitting opposite from me. He'd been getting more and more nervous from the time we came to a stop, apparently because of some early meeting for him to attend or something.

On any other day, I would have considered his anxious rambling hilarious. Today however, all it did was annoy the living Tartarus out of me. He didn't talk very much or anything, just kept checking his watch and going through his files every thirty seconds or so. Needless to say, I didn't get a shut eye at any time during the trip. And after a good half-hour of our prolonged stay, I had to fight back the urge to slap his stupid, arrogant face.

I didn't, of course. Although I probably should have. At times, I still think I should have given him a good piece of mind. Even today, I do. But that's never any use. Nopony can go back in time and change the past, after all. Maybe even that is for the best, even if I could think of a few occasions which I'd like to do something about.

Like I said, the train pulled into Balimare's Gare Du Nord at about noon. I know. It literally means northern station, and I already started wondering why I ever complained about Manehattan in this way. Some Fancy-speaking ponies once built this place, hence the weird name. Or so I've been taught. Anyway, Nord was the city's main station, with all the important tracks coming in from that direction, and all. Lying directly on the northern shore of Horseshoe Bay, the city couldn't really afford any connections from a different direction than up north. I think. All of this made much more sense back in third grade.

Three thoughts were on my mind, as I stumbled out of the comparatively humble building that was Nord's terminal, and out onto town square. First, I needed to keep an eye out for anypony who might still remember and recognize me. It had been a while since my last visit, but I did grow up here, after all. Second, I had to recall the quickest path from here to my parents' house. Third, a place to take a dump. Luckily, the train station provided everything I needed for the latter. The only thing that made me cringe about it was the fee of one bit, but what can you do.

My parents lived on the northern edge of town, but the station itself wasn't right in the center, either. Although covering the distance to get there would take me a while, I could still easily cover it on hoof. A short glance at a public map of the local surroundings helped recalling the path I had to take, too. Another five minutes or so, and I was firmly on my way.

It wasn't as simple to find anything in this town as it would have been in most cities. A lot of towns around Equestria only consisted of streets that interlocked at right angles. I don't know why. I think it's something about them being created artificially, but I might have been wrong. It didn't account for Baltimare, in any case. Around most parts of Baltimare, the streets were arranged a little more complicated than just a simple grid. Or to be more precise, they were a complete and total mess. Safe maybe for the neighborhoods around the harbor, but I never went there, anyway. The industrial quarters in the south weren't the nicest place to be around, and that's putting it mildly.

Apart from that, I needed to keep an eye out for street names, unless I wanted to get lost. Which wouldn't have been so hard to do, had they all been in one unified language. But being the cultural melting pot that it was, Baltimare combined streets that were named in at least three dozen different languages. Half of which I didn't even know about. I'm serious. There were intersections in this town, where each of the four adjacent roads was named in a different tongue than the others. And I could almost guarantee that nopony ever understood all of them.

Given that I never had the greatest skills of orientation, it was a mere miracle that I found my folks' place without ever having to despair or cry out for help. Then again, I've only walked most of these streets a billion times or so. Childhood habits do seem to pay off, I suppose.

The street names were still killing me. At some point, I could tell I was entering the suburbs I grew up in. Coming back here made me feel a bit nostalgic in the beginning, but that pretty much stopped after I realized how the place had seemingly lost nothing of its former, corny self. It's awful, really. Most neighborhoods in northern Baltimore are these kinds of communities. In here, the lawn in a pony's front yard always had to be neatly trimmed, at a height of five millimeters at max. Lights-out was precisely at ten, and if you ever failed to check your mailbox in two or three days, someone would probably call law enforcement or an ambulance or something.

My parents lived on 4283 Ronda de Amistad, that much I remembered. It was also one of these freaky place names that I had absolutely nothing to associate it with, despite having grown up here. The closer I got there, the more I started to keep an eye out for any curious bystanders. There were a lot of ponies in Baltimare who might still be able to recognize me, and many whom I really didn't want to do that. I had my reasons to avoid them. There's been a lot of bad blood between myself and this city.

Speaking of which, I still had no idea what I was going to do next. I also didn't see the point in even coming here, and part of me already knew this was the dumbest thing I could possibly pull in my current situation. Also, it wasn't going to end well, no matter what. Especially since I wasn't going to see my parents, anyway. Any minute now, I'd turn back around and make a run for it, that was for sure.

Except I didn't. I have no idea why, but I just kept going. Probably because I didn't really think about it. Sure, I was nervous. A bit scared even. But I mostly concentrated on trying to spot ponies first who didn't need to spot me. The thought of seeing my parents again only occupied a small spot in the very back of my mind. Mostly because I pushed it there. If I wasn't going to see them anyway, what was there for me to worry about? There was also still a long way ahead of me, I kept telling myself. Times and again, I did. Up to the point when I found myself standing on my family's porch, and all excuses effectively stopped working at once.

I gulped hard, seeing the small, beige cottage lie before me again after all those years. I had left this place for good, and coming back here was an incredibly stupid decision. But I only realized that now. And the more I tried ignoring a problem or refused to face it, the harder did the truth come crashing back to me. Without any warning, I started shaking all over, my breath rapidly intensifying within seconds.

It was somewhere around that time that I completely lost control. I didn't know what I was thinking anymore, and I just started acting from instinct. One of my numb forelegs rose up seemingly all by itself. I don't know. I didn't really, consciously put it there. After a second or so, my hoof started hovering at the height of the doorbell, uncontrollably shaking.

I closed my eyes, telling myself another ten-thousand times just how crazy all of this actually was. And how I wasn't going to see them. How I could still avoid all this, somehow. Then, with a deep exhale and without even looking I leaned forward until my hoof connected with the cold, brass knob.

The ring that came from inside sounded like the bell to my own funeral. It wasn't the same sound like when I last lived here, but I didn't even realize that right away. I felt too light-headed for that. In addition, my heart pounded in my chest like a sledgehammer, and my rib cage felt like it was about to explode. I didn't believe in any deity to say a prayer to, but in moments like these I really wished I did.

My mind raced, as I kept trying to find a way out of this mess. I could still make a run for it without being seen...probably. They wouldn't answer the door for another few seconds, but it wouldn't take any longer than that. With every moment that I kept hesitating, my chances for escape grew weaker. Eventually, I knew it wasn't going to work. None of it was.

Time went and passed, every new second feeling like an hour. After a short while, I became impatient. I didn't know how short it was, but it felt much too long. Maybe they saw me, and wouldn't open up? For all I knew, they probably weren't even home.

That must be it, I told myself. They weren't here, and that's why nopony would answer me. And in all honesty, why would anyone be here right now? It was a Sunday after all, wasn't it? They probably went for a walk in the park, they always did. We always did. I felt pretty sure about that. Maybe they went out to get some ice cream for...for...

Oh...that's right.

I almost jumped back when the door creaked open a minute later. I felt my mouth open slightly, although my teeth remained clenched together with all the might I could muster. My eyes were opened wide in shock, supported with beads of sweat running down my temples. In retrospect, it probably wasn't that much of a surprise when the pony who opened gave me a rather incredulous look.

He was a scarlet-coated unicorn stallion, a good ten years older than me. I noticed his race not so much due to his horn, but mostly from the stupid pink coffee mug hovering beside him in mid-air. He was dressed in some sort of equally stupid morning gown, and looked like he was ready to exorcise extreme caution. Or something. Whatever that even meant. In any case, I couldn't remember ever seeing him ever before, and he certainly wasn't my father.

"Can I help you?" the stallion asked. His voice was full of mistrust, although he probably tried to keep it neutral...somehow. I didn't answer him straight away, either. Being to busy controlling one's breath leads doesn't allow much time for any other priorities. I'm pretty sure I must have looked like a complete and total creep, staring at him with a ragged breath like that. He seemed to agree with me on that point, judging from the way he returned my looks.

"Lady, I have no idea who you are, but this is ridiculous." He frowned, placing his mug onto a nearby desk. "I don't want to buy anything, and I don't want to join any religious group or anything. Got that? Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to enjoying my day off."

"No, wait!" I exclaimed, as he started shutting the door again. The stallion only rolled his eyes in response.

"Yes?"

"I...I'm looking for...I mean...meaning..." Clenching my eyes shut with frustration then, I sighed. "Ugh...do you know where I can find Mr or Mrs Punch?"

I could only cringe at the name, as always. After all these years, one would think I'd have gotten used to it, but I still hated my guts for being associated with a word like that. At least, what I said got the job done. The guy's features lit up to some degree, and most of their hostility was certainly lost in the process.

"Oh...well, I haven't been asked that in a while now," he explained, suddenly a bit unsure. "But truth is...and you've probably guessed, but...they don't live here, anymore."

I felt my spirit drop at his words. That couldn't be so good. "Well, then, uh..." I started stuttering again. Awesome. "...any idea where they went?"

He shook his head in response. "No, not really. We never actually met. If it weren't for the neighbors, I wouldn't even know their name. I bought this place from some local real estate guy a good four years ago, and they already left by then." He slightly lowered his voice, craning his neck to get a bit closer to me. "From what I've heard, they weren't exactly a happy family, either. But I can't say why. I'm not one for prying into others' business."

"Oh, y-yeah, right," I replied with a weak chuckle. "Probably wasn't worth knowing about any...anyway."

I tried to cover up my own idiotic emotions with that. On the inside, I felt nothing of the sort right now. Just terrifyingly, horribly sad and desperate. I always kept telling myself I didn't miss my folks, but I always thought we could, and probably would get back together, eventually. Being unable to reconnect with them all of a sudden...it felt like being hit with the exact same hammer that previously worked its way against my chest from the inside. Also, I noticed how the edge of my vision was slowly getting blurry. That really didn't help, now not it didn't! I turned to leave without any further comment.

"Well, I'm sorry I couldn't help," the stallion called out behind me. Then, he hastily added, "are the Punches somehow important to you, Miss...?"

I stopped dead in my tracks, shivering. Why in the wide world of Equestria did he have to ask for my name? Why now?

"It's Berry," I told him. "Just that. It's sort of a pen name."

It was sort of an emergency situation, otherwise I'd never have anyone call me Berry. I just didn't. The last time I'd done so was back in fifth grade with some annoying kid from my class. He then kept calling me Chuck instead, for some reason. And it made me boil over with rage more than once, so I just decided to introduce myself by my full name from there on. Until now, of course. But it wasn't like I was ever going to see this guy ever again. Now, if only I could leave in peace...

"...are you some sort of writer, then?"

Oh, for fuck's sake!

"Huh? No, I...I..." Now, I couldn't use the painter thing. Painters wouldn't call it a pen name, right? "...I'm an, uh, artist, somehow. I write short stories and songs, then I perform these, and..."

"Oh, you're that kind of artist!" He said it with a sarcastic notion, and I would have done well to turn around and punch him right in that stupid throat of his. But against my better judgment, I went straight ahead and left. I didn't even look back. There were a few tears running down my cheeks by now, and I really didn't want to show those off.

"Wait! Are you performing anywhere nearby, or..."

"The show got canceled!" I yelled as loud as my shaky voice would allow it, just before I got back onto the sidewalk. I turned left, then dashed down the street as fast as I could, and back to where I'd come from.

Lost Filly Blues

There was a small nightclub set up in a former warehouse somewhere on Raduzhskaya Ulitsa. The street itself led right up to the Gare Du Nord, and the club itself was located only a few hundred feet away from there. It hadn't been too hard to find; even before I left town all those years ago, the Red Horse had already been established here. As far as I could remember, this dumping ground for public nuisances and angsty teenagers had always existed in a part of town that only consisted of dozens of empty and deserted factories.

I also remembered ending up here a few times throughout my high school years, dragged along by some other outsider fillies whom I knew from my classes. For some reason, I recalled the way to get here more clearly than I did with the route to what had been my family home. Back in the day, I only irregularly spent a few Friday nights in this place for various reasons, and I'd gone to its backyard once or twice for strictly explicit reasons. Still, I remembered the location pretty well, and the gigantic red neon ad above its entrance caught my eye from several blocks away.

Even though I arrived at three in the afternoon, the place had already opened up. It wasn't exactly bursting with customers, strictly speaking. But I did spot a small number of ponies upon my entrance, none of whom seemed very familiar at first. They were hanging around here and there, most of them lurking around in the back, playing billiards or something. A long counter occupied most of the main room's left wall, with a wide variety of liquor bottles and whatnot stashed on the shelf behind it. Directly opposite from it, there was a small stage with a lot of empty space right in front of it. That would be the place for any potential live acts to perform, obviously.

It really was a location designed for partying, mind you. But no loud, distracting music was played here until seven or eight. Hence the current lack of paying customers. Right now, the club was more of a bar, and not a very successful one at that. I couldn't tell whether the place always worked like this, but I had my suspicions.

The Red Horse was run by a bunch of crazy left-wingers, who had this kind of open-for-everyone-at-all-times attitude. Which is also where the name derived from, I guess. These ponies weren't so much into money, but that only increased their levels of acceptance towards me, since I rarely ever had any. That much I did remember, even from earlier. Everyone poor and desolate was always welcome in here, and they barely served anyone else. Except of course, weirdo teens like I had been, not so long ago. I wasn't so sure about anypony else, but whoever considered themselves above middle class tended to just avoid the place altogether. I once heard about the Reds guillotining rich ponies, whenever they got their hooves on one. That didn't seem very likely, of course.

I mean, it could be true. I just didn't believe it. And how much truth could there possible be to a rumor spread by some random kid in grade school? Because that's where I first heard about it. But the thought was kinda hilarious at the time. That, and a bit creepy. But mostly hilarious.

I didn't really have to think about what to do next. After a quick stop at the bathroom, I sat down at the bar. I needed something to help me forget everything that already happened today, and make sure nothing even worse would follow. Nothing I'd be able to remember, anyway.

Judging from my current exterior, the bartender probably needed a drink as well after looking at me. I could tell because I made the mistake of risking a peek inside the mirror while freshening up. And the undead apparition staring back at me seemed creepy enough, even if it hadn't been for the pair of reddened, bloodshot eyes. Maybe, I really was turning into a zombie or something. I didn't even mind it that much, I think.

In any case, that didn't matter so much to me, right now. Not after I sat down for a drink, biding my painful memories goodbye. Now, all I needed to do was pick my favored method of execution. Like I could have guessed from all the whiskey and rum bottles behind the counter, they served a broad variety of stuff in here. I really didn't know what to try first, but I think I eventually went with a Piña Colada. Why, I can't tell. Intuition, probably. The name had a nice ring to it, too.

Unfortunately, that turned out to be the drink's only aspect for me to enjoy. I shouldn't have judged the book by its cover, apparently. Especially in this city, a pony needed to act carefully and filled with mistrust when faced with a foreign term. Which probably sounded a bit racist, but I really wouldn't consider myself a xenophobe. Then again, I never really paid attention in any of my foreign language classes, either. Well, I never paid a whole lot of attention to most of my classes, to be honest. If I had, I'd probably know more about some things in life than I did, now. This way, I could only separate between what I knew and what I didn't know.

For example: I knew that I reacted allergic to pineapples.

I did not know that Piña Colada was pineapple-flavored. I really should have, though.

What happened next should be fairly obvious. I ordered and paid for the drink that I requested. It wasn't very expensive; that would be one of the advantages some of these leftist places have. The disadvantage tied to it was that the entire building looked like a dump that was about to fall apart at any minute. Which it probably really was. But price or not, I immediately noticed the mistake I made after one single sip of the cocktail.

I do recognize the taste of pineapples, even though I hadn't had any for years. The only time I ever tried them almost got me killed. It really did, literally. I remember something along the lines of not being able to breathe, passing out from that, and spending a week or two in the hospital afterwards. That isn't something lightly forgotten about. And if I ever did, there always remained this not very appealing scar on my neck. Enough of my coat grew back to cover it up, eventually. But that didn't erase what had happened from existence.

Whatever. I did face a certain dilemma, right now. And it was mostly about the taste, along with the liquid carrying it. Both of them already made their way into my mouth. A place where they really, really didn't belong. I couldn't swallow the drink, unless I wanted to repeat the unpleasant procedure described earlier. Which I didn't. Of course not. I mean, I couldn't even afford a hospital.

I also didn't want to spit it all out onto the floor or something. That would probably be a bit disrespectful. I did order the stuff, after all. Carefully, I leaned forward, and pushed the upper end of my drink's straw through my closed lips. Then, I carefully had the lukewarm pineapple juice flow back flow back to where it came from. All the time, my eyes darted around nervously, and I could only beg that nopony would realize the incredible stupidity that I'd just managed to pull off.

Apparently, none of those around did. By the time the last trace of pineapple had left my mouth, I brought myself to a sigh of relief. Only to slam a hoof into my face right after, when I realized I just wasted three bits on something that I couldn't even use for anything. And now, mixed with some disgusting traces of body scent and saliva, I was pretty sure I didn't want it anymore. I would have given it to somepony else, but I didn't think anyone around this place actually deserved that.

Of course, fate had it that I was proven wrong again in that very moment.

Said proof trotted up to me right then, pretty much out of nowhere. It did so in the shape of a cyan blue mare who approached me from the other end of the counter, grinning like an idiot as she did. That thing called a facial expression was probably supposed to be a smile, but I wouldn't have noticed without any second thoughts. While I told myself I shouldn't actually be surprised to find her around here of all ponies, I fought back the tendency to run away screaming with every new step this mare took towards me. That was pretty dumb of me; I should have just taken the opportunity and run.

I couldn't even remember that pony's name, and I hadn't heard it in ages, too. Back in school, everyone just called her Sonya, I think. Pretty sure her actual name did have something to do with that. Maybe I never even learned about her actual name, I don't know. I never really bothered to find out. Nopony did. Of course, no-one ever felt very compelled to find out anything about her in general.

We had our reasons to avoid her, too. Sonya had never been the brightest candle on the cake. But what she lacked in intelligence she sure did make up for in being obnoxious like hell. She never had any friends, but then again, neither did I. Not for long, anyway.

"Hey there, Berry!" I heard her say in a sing-sang voice that made me cringe by itself. Also, had she really just called me by my first name? I could already feel the convulsions run through my forelegs.

"'sup?" I replied with a nod, not even subtly trying to hide my lack of enthusiasm. Leaning forward, I wanted to take another sip from my drink to show I wasn't up for small talk, now. Luckily, I managed to notice the obvious mistake, and pulled back in time. Of all ponies, Sonya was among the least I wanted to give me CPR or whatever intimate bullshit would be appropriate in emergencies like these. Even after several years she hadn't yet lost that trademark stink coming from her muzzle; I could tell from a mile away.

If that wasn't enough already, she had to sit down next to me. Of course she did.

"When did you come back? I haven't seen you in, like, forever!" She put on a corny grin, hooves gently placed in front of her on the counter. Her eyes wandered downward, and widened all of a sudden. "Oh, you've got your cutie mark! That's...fantastic, I still haven't gotten mine, you know."

Well, of course not. She probably hung out here all day long, so how would anyone ever find out about any sort of talent they had?

"How did you get that, I wonder? I mean, what have you been up to anyway?"

How indeed? "Can't really remember," I replied with a snort. Sonya's pretentious smile vanished in an instant.

"Really? That's terrible!" She loved sounding overly dramatic. I didn't even mention that, yet. "But...but you have to remember what defines you! I think I couldn't stand not remembering that!"

I sighed, my gaze wandering down towards the counter in quiet resignation. I must have done something really horrible to deserve this.

"I don't know because I forgot," I said. Better to tell her the truth. It wasn't that much of an exciting story, anyway. "Went out drinking one night, like...like always. When I woke up the next morning, it was just there. And yes, of course I hate forgetting about it. But alcohol is one hell of a drug, I tell you. It takes your soul and body apart with all the possible strength and brutality there is, till there's nothing left of you. Intellectuals call that sort of thing killing you slowly. And there's literally no upside to any of it."

I reached forward and pushed the pineapple drink over to her. "Want some?"

"Huh? Oh, oh yes, of course!" she squeaked, after a short moment of hesitation. "Thank you so much! Nopony ever is that nice to me."

I winced, mildly gesturing with one hoof, while Sonya sucked through the straw like it was her mommy's teat or something. Before I even noticed, the Piña Colada was half-empty. As much as I tried to avoid her, this awkward silence that was only interrupted by her occasional sounds of slurping felt even worse. I figured it was me who needed to keep the conversation going, then. Even though it probably was a horrible idea.

"So, you're kinda holding up over here?"

"Oh, I'm doing good," she blurted out between slurps. "Pretty good, I think...uh...yeah. I mean, if you ever wanna hang out, I'm usually here all week, so..."

I waited for her to continue, but she left the sentence unfinished and went back to her drink...my drink, instead. Or to be more precise, her drink with my drool in it. I almost snorted at the thought. That wouldn't have been so good, I think. At least, I wouldn't have wanted to explain what was so funny, all of a sudden.

In any case, she hung out here all the time. I should have guessed so. What else was there in it for her, anyway? A loser like Sonya probably just needed this kind of pseudo-social hub to feel better about herself or something. I'm one to talk. She probably lived here, or whatever.

"But enough of me, how about you?" With some surprise, I noticed the Piña Colada to be emptied out completely, as she said so. "You have to tell me everything, and I really mean everything! Maybe we can even figure out what that mark of yours means. Just like old times, right?"

"Yes, of course," I hesitantly said with a weak giggle. "Just let me take care of one little thing, first. Waiter!"

Just as I yelled the last word across the room, a teenage colt from a few feet away quickly approached me. I never saw him before, but there really wasn't much to see apart from a freckled face, a disheveled mane, and the weird uniform he was wearing. A turquois shirt with a brightly yellow sort of scarf...thing. Really?

"You called?" he asked with a sort of childish enthusiasm.

I nodded off his request. "Yes, I did. And I'd like a bottle of Neighgermeister, if you don't mind."

His eyes widened in confusion. "P-pardon?"

"One whole bottle," I repeated, more slowly this time. "Twenty-four ounces, isn't it?"

The colt arched an eyebrow. "And you don't need anything to mix it with?"

"Nope," I replied, shaking my head. "If I'm gonna go braindead tonight, I'd at least prefer to take care of that myself."

The colt blinked a few times in confusion, then went fishing the bottle from the shelf behind him. He turned back around, and placed it down in front of me. I thanked him and immediately started unscrewing the top.

To be completely honest, I had no idea what I was doing, right then. It felt like the right thing, as well as an easy escape route, so I just went for it. To my frustration, Sonya never moved an inch, but instead kept watching me with a sense of silent fascination in her eyes. After what I just said, I'd hoped for her to just leave me in peace, I really did. And anypony but her would have gotten the hint.

Then again, Sonya never really got the hint.

I pulled the bottle up to my muzzle, clenching its neck between my teeth. With one last look around, I threw my head back and wished it all to hell.

T

Shortly after my train left Baltimare, it started raining again. The weather helped dampening my mood a great deal. Although given the season, I probably shouldn't have been surprised by that. Surprisingly, I did get lucky this time in some way. We pulled out of Baltimare at one-thirty in the afternoon, and wouldn't make a single stop up to its destination. At a time like this, most ponies were still out at work, and no-one needed to travel from one city to another. I ended up having an entire cabin to myself.

When I left the city behind, it didn't come to me as depressing as I expected. Even though I still felt like crap when thinking about my parents. Sure, there would be some way to track them down. But did I even want to do that? Did I want to see them again, anyway?

I decided that I probably did. After all, there needed to be some sort of reason why I came back here, even if I hadn't given my actions much thought. But seeing as they were gone now, and with no acquaintances but Sonya left in the whole darn place, I figured I'd best move on. Everyone else had probably done the same, by now. Everyone except for tramps and downers like her, who would just keep hanging out in one and the same place until they broke down or something. I don't know. I think she made me promise to come back that evening, but I couldn't say for sure. Not that I would have come back, in any case. It's just that my memory had gotten a bit blurry after drowning an entire bottle of liquor.

I really underestimated what that stuff does to an empty stomach. Sure, it was only halfway full when I drank it. But it still knocked me out for good. The last thing I remembered was myself drowning the bottle's remnants in three heavy gulps. After that, there weren't enough functioning brain cells left to even comprehend Sonya's pointless blabbering. So, in a way my plan worked out pretty well, but I really don't seem to recall what happened next. And there hadn't been anypony around for me to ask, either. The entire place closed down sometime during my blackout. When I woke up, I found everything to be dark and empty so I just tiptoed out. As for the payment...well, someone probably took care of that, already.

With no-one else to ask, I only had my own distant recalling to count on. And my memory worked incredibly slow that morning. I was way to hungover to comprehend anything too complex. Then again, I probably didn't even want to remember what happened. One part of my brain told me I gave Sonya my promise to return tonight. Another one stated that I yelled at her or beat her up or something. Whichever one was true, she probably took it dead serious, even from the words of a drunk. Sonya wouldn't get the difference, I could tell.

Judging from another, more distant memory, I started flirting with the young barpony at some point, then slept with him after his shift ended. I wasn't so sure about that one, though. There's some morals imprinted even in my brain, and he had looked much too young for me. Besides, I woke up without at all feeling sore in certain places, so chances were that none of that ever happened.

The train rattled on across the tracks, streams of rain constantly splashed onto the windows. Before long, they turned the outside world into an impenetrable, monotonous gray. There weren't any shapes for me to distinguish between out there, and I ended up alone with nothing but my own imagination to keep me company. Though I promised myself for so many times to avoid the topic, my thoughts kept drifting back to whatever might have happened to my parents. Truth be told, I hadn't really thought about them in years. They were only blocking my path, I kept telling myself. Obstacles with no other purpose than to hold me back.

But returning to the old cottage and standing on that porch again...I don't know. I sort of had a moment, there. Ever since, even while talking to Sonya last night, my mind kept going back to this one subject. It wouldn't leave me alone so soon, I could tell. Which was bad. Because the more I kept thinking about my parents, the more I felt like breaking down and crying. I really didn't need to do that in public.

It didn't matter so much where they went. Most cities in this country were one and the same, anyway. And my chances of finding the correct one were incredibly slim, so I wouldn't even have to start with that. Something that rather mattered to me was asking how they were holding up. Neither of them took my absence to hard, I would think. But then again, how could I know? Most of the time, I couldn't even tell where my next meal was going to come from.

But still, that subject was something that kept bugging me. Were they happy? And why would they be in the first place? What did it even take to be happy in life? I often asked that last one myself, but I never had any answer coming to mind. Maybe they even thought of me as annoying as I thought of them, and were secretly glad I left?

I couldn't really tell whether I even wanted that or not. Not being missed doesn't exactly lift up a pony's mood, and I wouldn't make an exception. Then again, most ponies who still remembered me probably felt nothing but disappointment at the thought. I did hope for my parents that they just forgot about me all along, and built up a new, better existence for themselves. The idea was disgusting, but what it described probably really was the best solution for everyone. In a way, it was all my fault, anyway. Wasn't it?

All in all, it was me who ran away, and now I had best stay gone. It was the best solution for everyone, like I said. I can't even tell why I bothered coming back to Baltimare. It had been a stupid decision, of course it had. And I could consider myself lucky about only some random douchebag having opened the door to my family home, instead of anyone I actually knew. This way, there was no harm done. And before anything bad could happen, I decided to ditch Baltimare altogether. Immediately after getting up that day, I gathered my things and headed for the next best city that I actually knew a thing or two about. One that was still close enough for me to reach with my limited budget, however.

That city would be Fillydelphia. My train pulled into the central terminal at about four or five in the afternoon or something like that. I probably wouldn't have noticed our arrival in the first place, weren't it for the outside rain suddenly stopping. Well, it didn't exactly stop, but Fillydelphia Central has the pleasant advantage of being all placed under one and the same roof. Seeing the huge and dimly lit terminal outside the nearest window, I decided to quit my napping and get going. Strapping my saddlebags back around my waists, I headed for the exit.

By the time I left the train, there were already two dozen other travelers assembled outside, waiting for me to clear the way so they could get on. I had no idea where the city's sudden Exodus came from, but it was probably because of the regular working hours ending somewhere around that time. And speaking about employment, I was running low on bits. There needed to be something done about that.

One of the more individual aspects at Fillydelphia Central was a vast foyer that bordered all sorts of smaller businesses and shops. It was almost like a tiny mall, really. Including the stench and being crowded like cattle with hundreds of others and stuff. In other words, I hated it. But I also needed to gather up a few items first, and the only alternative would be heading out into the rain. I didn't exactly beam at the prospect.

There was a duty-free store somewhere around here, which I also passed by at some point. It didn't really stand out or anything, but they were selling liquor there. Needless to say, that sort of caught my eye by default. But it also made me question the logic of why such a place even existed, and why here. It wasn't like there were any international connections going out from Filly or coming in. Not from its train station, anyway. Except maybe when going to some weird griffin place up north, but I couldn't say whether any border regulations or custom control applied for that. Equestria's borders had always been more of a pretty vague concept, anyway.

Long story short, I didn't get that store or its purpose. All it did was sell cheap alcohol for a higher price than any other business would, and still get away with it. That was one reason for me not to pay it any attention and move on. The other one being my own hungover self, and a stomach that really couldn't stand the sight of any brown bottles, right now.

Instead, I headed towards a small department place close to the main exit. From what I could tell, they sold mostly groceries and magazines over there. Since I was hoping for a fresh paper to pick up, it seemed like the place to go. Some serious kind of news source, that was. Not that I cared about current events or any of that, but only those sorts of papers tended to have an employment column hidden somewhere inside. The trash cans didn't seem to contain anything useful at first sight, and I really didn't want to go digging any deeper than the top layer. I'd rather pay one or two bits extra, and still keep that part of my dignity.

Much like I had expected, the store did indeed sell the kind of newspapers I was looking for. My choice eventually went for the day's edition of the Fillydelphia Herald, which seemed to be one of the few reliable sources from around here. Tucking it away in my only saddlebag that was left functioning, I paid up and returned to the main foyer. From here, I soon had no choice than to head for the exit. I wasn't so sure on where to go next, but it didn't really matter.

Whatever. I still needed a place for me to sleep tonight, and that sure as hay wouldn't be some crowded terminal building. I'd gone for that in Manehattan, already. And after two nights of improvising a place to sleep, I was hoping to get myself at least something halfway decent to rest my bones on tonight. There weren't any hints for that kind of thing anywhere in the building, and unfortunately so. The walls were all plastered with ads for fast food and expensive clothing, neither of which had ever been among my main fields of interest.

Flinging open the entrance hall's main door, I left the crowded atmosphere behind me. The streets of Fillydelphia immediately greeted me with some fresh air and a liberating feeling, which unfortunately wouldn't last for too long. Only a split-second after my first, deep breath of cold air, my face was greeted with a cold splash of water into my face. The rain was coming down more heavier that afternoon than it had done in months, and I shuddered and groaned at the mere sight. After no more than the first twenty or thirty seconds, my coat and saddlebags were both dripping wet, and I assumed I might as well trash the paper whenever I'd first get the chance. Illegible probably wouldn't even start to describe the state it now was in.

Now, I had been to Filly before. My memories and orientation failed me just as much as usual, and the rain didn't help in any case. But I did know a thing or two about the city's outline. That of the downtown area, anyway. And if I remembered correctly, there had to be some sort of commercial district clear across the street. A place like that always contained at least two or three affordable hotels. Or at least, some place for me to stay dry. Well, to not get any more wet, really.

In any case, I decided I'd better get going. Head hung low, and a scowl of frustration across my muzzle, I started crossing the wide avenue that lay almost abandoned in this weather. Of course. Nopony in their right minds would possibly go outside with hundreds of gallons of crap dripping down on them with every passing second. That privilege was reserved for morons like me. At least, I thought, I'd have my sweet solitude reclaimed. And I'd prefer just about anything above a crowded place like the terminal. For what it was worth, I figured I'd still made the right choice by coming out here.

Needless to say, I thought wrong again.

As soon as I'd crossed the first two lanes, I heard an ear-splitting screech coming from my left. A screech accompanied by the sound of somepony shouting "Look out!" The latter was easily lost in the rain, but I still managed to catch it, just so. And even though I usually don't care too much about my own safety, I decided I should still take a look. Turning my eyes in the direction the noise came from, I started wishing I hadn't.

The first thing I spotted was a stallion rushing towards me with remarkable speed. From a single glance, I could tell it probably wasn't the only thing remarkable about him, but that didn't matter, now. Truth be told, his speed was actually starting to worry me, right along with the panicking expression on this face. Wherever he'd been headed, he must have been in some sort of a hurry, given the speed with which he dashed towards me. He also slammed his hooves into the street top right then, trying to somehow come to a stop. I suppose there really was no other way for him to avoid hitting me. Given the street's wet surface however, even that didn't work. It didn't work at all.

Oh, right. Did I also mention the carriage that was strapped to his back? It was open on top, and I could recognize dozens of wooden crates stashed on the inside. Up to the top, quite literally. It all looked pretty heavy, to be honest. And dangerous for anything or anyone it might collide with. And it was flying towards me at a pace that should really give me one or another reason to be concerned.

Still a good fifty feet away, the driver finally slipped and fell to his side. As he did, the carriage spun around and crashed onto the concrete surface with its side. Before I could even move, the wagon spontaneously decided to send all its cargo flying freely in my direction. And numb with shock, I didn't even consider moving away. For a moment, I might have also been a bit preoccupied with the driver, who cried out in pain when hitting his foreleg against the edge of the sidewalk.

It was a shame, really. Seeing how handsome he looked, and all. But my attention automatically shifted to what was coming towards myself. It was a bit more important, too. The last thing I could make out was the spinning, wooden wreckage quickly filling in more and more of my peripheral vision, until even the edges of my sight were filled with nothing but those darn crates. I wondered where this mess was possibly going to end.

Then it hit me.

Morphine

No, I didn't die. Not completely, anyway. I know. I found it to be frustrating, as well.

When I woke up just about whenever, a low but constant beeping snapped me back into the real world within the course of a few minutes or so. One by one, my senses came flowing back to me. The numbness in my limbs grew weaker, and after a while, I could at least feel my legs again. I even dared to open my eyes just a bit, but squeezed then shut again, right after. The bright neon light that shone into them almost got me killed...again. Why was I still alive in the first place? And what had happened, anyway?

Oh, right. Traffic accident, and all that. The sudden realization brought me out of my stupor, and I tried to leap out of the oncoming carriage's way. Which didn't work at all, but I couldn't have known so at the time. Instead of grinding against the street's hard surface then, my legs kicked up into the air without ever facing much resistance. There was something soft, which I managed to kick off of myself. It felt like a blanket, but I really couldn't tell. Only that it didn't offer the sort of friction I was hoping for. Instead of leaping aside, I hardly moved at all.

The sudden surge of panic that came with my immovability decreased only gradually, as I gradually realized what had happened. First of all, I wasn't out on the street anymore, and I wasn't on my hooves, either. The rain must have stopped a while ago, I figured. And whatever it was I was lying on sure felt like a mattress, though I couldn't say for sure.

A bed, probably. That explained a few things, like, the blanket. But I didn't feel at all reassured about how I got here. Also, none of this felt familiar, and it certainly didn't feel like a hotel room. The scent that hung in the air around me was much too sterile, and there was a distant, but stinging pain in my left foreleg that I didn't have any explanation for. Telling myself not to panic times and again, I gradually calmed my breathing, then tried to slowly open my eyes again and see whether I could make any sense of this.

My vision needed to readjust itself first, of course. This way, all I was able to make out in the beginning looked like a blurry mess of white and light gray. Only in time, I managed to recognize some more distinguishable shapes. As it turned out, I really was lying in a bed. A noticeably white bed, but somehow most of this room was either white or a very bright shade of something else. The blankets which probably used to be rolled up above myself somewhat neatly now lay to my hindlegs all tossed and tangled. There was a window to my right, and I could recognize three more beds in this strange room, all of them somewhat similar to mine. I think there even were ponies in each of them, but I wasn't able to make out as much, just yet.

My gaze wandered down to something more closer, that is, my throbbing foreleg. To my distaste, I noticed a needle sticking out of it just above the knee. From here, I spotted a thin, transparent tube running attached to it. Said tube then continued upward, and connected to a package dangling a few inches above my head. Apparently, it contained some transparent liquid of for infusions of sorts. It was only then that the gears in my head finally connected. And with them, another surge of panic started washing across my mind.

Was this a hospital? I couldn't be in a hospital, I wasn't even able to afford that! The revelation by itself freaked me out a good deal. I immediately closed my eyes again, trying to focus my thoughts. Panicking about my situation wouldn't get me anywhere, I slowly started telling myself. I just needed someone who could explain to me what was going on, is all...

With my breath calming, I still kept my eyes clenched shut. Even though the more reasonable part of my mind protested against the thought, I told myself it might all just be a dream. But with each second that I kept lying there, my hopes became more irrational and the dream all the more real. Slowly but steadily, the memories of what brought me here also came flowing back.

It obviously was real then, and not just my imagination. As much as I hated facing the truth, I wouldn't get around it this time. Because no matter where I was and how grave my condition, there wasn't a hospital bill in the world that I'd be able to pay. Unless I wanted to go to jail or something, I needed to get out of here, pronto. After all, getting thrown into some lone and cold prison cell was among the last thing I wanted to do. Of course, I had no perspective on what else to do next, either. But that didn't mean I had to give up, now.

But first things first. Carefully, I opened my eyes, and let the bright neon lights get to me, again. Their simple presence made my forehead ache with pain, they really did. But there was nothing I could do about that, now. At least, it wouldn't be among my priorities. One eyelid twitching, I slowly looked down towards my leg.

The syringe wasn't fixated in any special way, so that was something. Apparently, no-one expected me to do any rapid motions or anything while...well, however long I'd been out. I don't know. But I still couldn't run around with a darn needle stuck in my leg. I wasn't exactly schooled in medicine or anything, but I could imagine a good three dozen muscles or so not liking that at all. I bent my head towards it, until the lowest possible bit of the tube attached to it got entangled between my jaws. I squeezed my eyes shut, and pulled.

A stinging pain shot through my leg, right as the needle shot out of it. I let loose a low yelp in surprise, my jaws releasing the syringe that scattered onto the floor right after. Some of the weird liquid kept running out of it, too. But I didn't mind it that much. What caused me a little more concern was the blood that started trickling out of the tiny wound left on my leg. It wasn't too much, but still a minor disturbance. And of course, it hurt. A lot.

It didn't matter; it really didn't. I ignored the pain at the best of my abilities, then leaped out of bed, and landed on three of my for legs. I kept the one with the needle slightly restrained, since it didn't feel like it could use a lot of additional pressure, right now.

My saddlebags were hung over the top rail of a nearby chair. As far as I could tell, all of their former ingredients were still inside. In one of them, anyway. And I sort of expected someone to have removed the spoiled newspaper that was probably outdated in any case. Probably.

Without much hestiation, I threw both bags over my back, then strapped them around tightly. Along with some confused looks from my fellow patients, I stumbled across the room and made for the door. While the three mares whom I'd never seen before didn't dare speak up at any time, I shot them a number of hostile looks to keep it that way. It wasn't very nice of me, sure. But the sooner I left this place behind, the better.

Outside of the shared bedroom, I came into a long, empty hallway. Its walls were as white and sterile as it had been in the other room, and even the neon lights were the same. If working here didn't get a pony depressed, I really wouldn't know what did. As quickly as my three legs would carry me, I turned and made for the next-best staircase.

Lucky me, there were signs posted on the walls every now and again, and who knows where I'd have ended up if it weren't for them. Probably the head nurse's locker or something. But I didn't want that. And it didn't happen. Given the right amount of information about my surroundings, I can very much maneuver through them without any accidents...more or less. And I ought to have had even more luck than that, seeing how I never met anypony else all the way down. Nopony who could ever question me about anything, that was. To a certain degree it felt almost unreal, and I wondered if I really wasn't dreaming this, after all.

The main entrance was three floors down, or so the sign above the landing told me. Given my immobilities of sorts, it took me a bit longer than usual to get them all behind me. And still, I never met anyone crossing my path or coming along down. At some point, it got almost freaky, it really did.

I arrived downstairs, and found myself ending up in a rather vast foyer. The room spanned over a hundred feet in each direction, and even the roof seemed a good deal higher than it was in the rest of the building. A number of gray, square-shaped concrete columns supported it in regular intervals. There also were several groups of ponies scattered across the room, a few dozen I'd presume. Some were huddled up in groups and chatting, others rushed on and about in whatever hurry they might be in. A few of them just sat down in one of the corners or something.

I didn't really mind the details. What mattered mostly was that none of them seemed to pay any attention to me. Even when I entered the room with a trot that was all but graceful, no-one really seemed to care. Whatever conversations there had been resumed as usual, and whoever hurried throughout the room kept running for the lives of ponies, who were gonna die anyway. Sooner or later, that is. I couldn't really tell about anything beyond that. And I didn't even want to.

Since nopony seemed to be very interested in stopping me, I eventually proceeded to do what I did best. And the thing I did best was take one step forward after another, then keep wobbling through the lobby with one leg hanging limply in mid-air. At the moment, anyway. The grand door on the room's far end looked very much like an exit, so I figured I might as well go for that. About halfway there, I came past a counter, behind which I spotted an elderly mare of about sixty or so. Noticing my approach, she immediately eyed me with a sense of skepticism. Which only made me walk faster. A bit, at least.

I admit, stumbling about as fast as my remaining limbs would carry me must have looked utterly ridiculous. Even worse, it made for a pretty pathetic display, and might possibly hint towards me not being restored to full health, just yet. In other words, I shouldn't have been all that surprised, when the nurse from behind the counter called out after me, as I almost made it to the exit.

"Excuse me, Miss Punch?" she yelled clear across the room. "May I ask where you are headed?"

Those concerns were probably justified, given her position and all. Still, why did everyone always have to go for the name?

I turned around and tried to force a smile. It didn't go very well, I think.

"Me? Oh, uh...never mind me. I'm just catching some fresh air, is all."

She arched an eyebrow. "What about the bags, then? I didn't know you were able to go outside, yet."

"It's...it's all according to plan," I stuttered, nervously. Beads of sweat started to form on my forehead. "Your colleagues upstairs told me I'd need something like this. Somehow. Get me re-adapted into the normality of life. You know...after I was out for so long."

Practically, I suppose I didn't only look pathetic. Same terminology could also apply to my search for excuses. The nurse seemed to agree with me on that part.

"Really?" she asked. "The records say you've only been here for two days. And you spent most of that time being unconscious. And received three broken ribs from a traffic accident...excuse me, but this doesn't seem very credible. Say, would you mind getting me some sort of confirmation about what you've been told upstairs? I'm sure the nurses had a good reason for what they decided on."

I scowled. At least one mystery cleared up, that was. But it didn't make the situation any easier. Slowly and carefully, I brought my fourth hoof back onto the ground, eyeing it with all the care I could muster. When it touched down, and even after I put the pressure back on it, my leg hurt considerably less than I expected. Nodding off the mare's request, I had my head hang low, and trotted back to where I came from.

Of course, the foot of the staircase was also where my obedience to her self-proclaimed authority ended. Instead of marching back upstairs, I noticed a narrow window only about four or five feet high, on the adjacent wall. Fate had it that the door frame back to the foyer actually managed to completely cover it from the reception's point of view. After another moment of checking for anyone coming up or down the stairs, I pulled open the window, and climbed outside.

Now naturally, the streak of luck I kept having couldn't possibly last all day. And it didn't, in fact. When most of my torso and forelegs had already made their way outside, I suddenly noticed the ground being a bit further away than I had expected. It was only a few feet down, but that still made for a pretty unnecessary fall. Seeing it as it were, I lost my balance on the window's frame, and dropped face-first onto the metaled ground. Quickly, another wave of pain exploded inside my head.

I think I kept lying around on the floor wincing for another two minutes or so. When I finally managed to get back up, on all fours this time, I shook my head in an effort to get rid of my dizziness. Blinking once or twice, I then looked around to get an approximate idea of where I ended up.

It was some sort of narrow side-lane, which connected two of the larger streets, I think. My vision was a bit narrowed, given the two brick walls to either side of me. They stood extremely close to each other; I didn't expect even a simple carriage to fit between the two. I can't really remember how everything looked like beyond that, but I think I headed for the main street that appeared to be a bit closer than its opposite. I don't know. It probably wasn't, but I still thought so at the time.

For now, I only needed to get away from the hospital. I had no idea how much they wanted to charge me, but I was one-hundred and twenty percent positive the final numbers would be far above whatever amount of cash I had left in my bags. But if nopony would catch me now, they wouldn't be able to track me down later. I wasn't so sure where they learned about my name, but still. I didn't even have a fixed address or anything, so good luck with that.

When I reached the nearby street, I found it to be particularly busy at this time of day. Without giving the other pedestrians much thought however, I turned left and galloped straight ahead at full pace. I think I didn't slow down until I put at least three or four blocks between myself and that goodness-forsaken place. Only then could I hope to breathe freely again, even though my lungs were going at it pretty ragged, once again.

With a sigh, I fell back onto my haunches and paused for a moment. Much to my personal pleasure, I heard several small coins ringing inside the one saddlebag that was still intact, as I did so. With at least a bit of money at hoof, I probably wasn't as lost as I first thought. Now, I only needed something reasonable to invest it in. My first idea naturally came back to covering my hospital bill, but I dismissed it without a second thought. That wouldn't work, ever. And it didn't really matter, now. There needed to be some way to make better use of the narrow resources available.

My eyes turned towards a nearby liquor store.

Dumping Grounds

It was dark; everything around me had turned into an impenetrable shade of pitch black. Stenches of rotten eggs and spoiled milk welcomed me as soon as I woke up. My head felt numb and heavy, and my stomach let me know I'd already gotten dangerously close to throwing up. It didn't take me very long to realize I was lying on my back, supported by some sort of slimy ground beneath me. There would probably be walls or a ceiling around me somewhere, but I couldn't tell. It was impossible to see a thing in here. Wherever that was.

I sighed in frustration, knowing that it wouldn't do any good, either. If I wanted to get anywhere, and I sure did want to get somewhere, out of here that was, I first needed to get some solid ground back under my hooves. So that's what I tried for. With limited success, I might add.

There was a reason even for that, just like there is a reason to everything. Maybe. As soon as I rolled over to my side just a little, the left half of my barrel cried out in pain more than I'd ever thought possible. I won't lie; it felt like someone had poked a rusty nail in there or something. With a surprised yelp, I dropped back onto my back without any further resistance. It took me a few more seconds to roll up on my other side. When feeling for the damaged spot in question, I noticed parts of my rib cage give in below my hoof's push. That really couldn't be good.

I probably needed professional medical help. Which was sort of a problem, for obvious reasons.

There wasn't any point even thinking in that direction. Going back to the hospital was out of the question, and I probably wouldn't even know how to get there in the first place. First, I needed to find out where in Equestria I ended up. Reaching up with my muzzle for something to get a hold on, I violently hit some sort of metallic ceiling. The low thud produced upon impact matched my subsequent euphoria just about right.

Although my damaged ribs kept protesting vehemently, I raised myself to my hindlegs, then used both front hooves to push against whatever this thing above my head was. To my surprise, it gave in a lot more easily than expected. Of all things, I hadn't expected it to be nothing but a particularly large lid. It swung up without producing much resistance, once given a good push. At least it revealed where I ended up. It also sent some bright sunlight flowing in, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut. Again. It always had to be the same mistakes, didn't it?

Long story short, I'd apparently spent the night in some backyard waste container. Night, or whatever time of the day it was. And the slimy ground beneath my hooves had its reasons for its sort of texture, too. In a way, I felt relieved to see no other pony around the place. This really wouldn't have made a good impression on anyone. I'd already gotten myself into the craziest of situations after a good drink or two, and I also believed that to be the reason for my latest blackout. But I had positively no idea how I ended up here.

With some difficulty, I climbed out of this wastebasket...thing, then dropped down onto the cobblestone ground below. It was a backyard, no doubt. Being inside an enclosed space bordered by four walls sort of gave that away. There also was a passage built into one of the walls, which presumably led to the next best street in that direction. That was a good thing, then. For a moment or so, I cheered up a bit, and figured my situation really could be worse.

I realized my hopes to be somewhat mislead pretty soon, however. My situation was, in fact, worse. When I turned around to face the rest of wherever I ended up, I found my saddlebags spread on the ground before me. And it wasn't only that; as opposed to their earlier state, both of them were horribly torn and tattered. Poking my hoof at them once or twice also revealed both of them to be empty. Whatever I used to carry around in them was long gone.

I looked round, hoping to find at least some of my belongings scattered around the place. But all I could spot, both inside and outside this giant wastebasket, was the casual, smelly junk that probably belonged here in the first place. An annoyed groan left my throat, as I reached up with both hooves to vigorously massage my temples. Surely, this would have some consequences. Which ones, I couldn't tell, though I was pretty sure there would be some. It can get a bit hard to focus with a throbbing skull like this.

I felt like every single fiber of my body was completely overwhelmed with the mere task of existing, no seconds attached. Inhaling and exhaling kept me busy as my main priorities for a while. Being this focused on functioning on the most basic of levels, for a while I didn't even realize just how screwed up everything was. I guess the thought just didn't occur to me. Not until a while later, when I opened my eyes again, and took another peek at my ruined bags. But when I did, the revelation hit me all at once, so to speak.

I slumped down on my haunches, duly noticing just how bad my situation had turned out. Sure, I've had my ups and downs in these past years...but this? Nothing even compared to this. I was broke, I was homeless, I didn't see any way out, and my coat was drenched in some other ponies' rotten waste. At least a few days back, I always had an ace up my sleeve when thinking I could always try and go back to my parents, if there ever shouldn't be any other way. But even acknowledging my own mistakes like that wouldn't work, not anymore.

And that was just the problem. I had no place to go. Which hotel would take me in like this? Probably none, but that also resulted from me being unable to pay them any rent. And where would I get the necessary funds for paying them? Attending any sort of job interview was absolutely pointless in my current state. But I couldn't get cleaned up, unless I'd be able to get into some sort of hotel. And which hotel would take me in like this? Classic Catch-22.

There was always a way out, sure. But when only one way out remained, that approach wasn't always profitable. And the longer I tried finding one, the more obvious it became that I wouldn't be able to. I could jump off a rooftop, sure. But given my luck, I'd probably even screw that up and end up in a wheelchair. I couldn't even afford a wheelchair! And the ponies back at the hospital wouldn't exactly be glad to conduct any surgeries on me, either. They probably wouldn't even take me in. Or maybe they would, but I couldn't possibly escape them again. Not this easily, anyway.

What, then? Pony anatomy has it that any mare, however broke she may be, always does have something left to sell. But despite everything I'd been through, offering my backside in exchange for a few coins still felt wrong. I don't know why. It's not like getting drunk and hammered in some greasy bathroom stall has any more dignity to offer. Still, who would possibly want to fuck a girl that smells like trash? And for a good reason, she does. I couldn't think of anypony. Except maybe those who get themselves turned on by that sort of kinkiness. Or the really desperate ones. Whatever. Neither one sounded very appealing, anyway.

Only one thing became obvious after a pretty short while. I couldn't think of a solution now, and I wouldn't find it anytime soon. So far, so bad. Whatever train of thought I tried to follow, it always just brought me back to where I started. Still hungover, my mind nevertheless started clearing up a good deal, and gave way to the revelation that I couldn't run from any longer: That this was it. There was no way out, not anymore. This would become the end to my own personal story. Game over, no extra lives left. Please enter your initials and move on.

And if there's nowhere to move on to, well, you might as well shut the hell up and die. Took me long enough, anyway.

With all that deeply intellectual garbage in my head, I didn't even realize I had fallen over. Well, not until now, anyway. But I had. I literally lost my balance and landed on my face. How a pony doesn't notice that sort of thing was beyond me, but obviously it was possible. My head was resting in the mess that had once been my saddlebags, with my rump somewhat raised up at the rear, legs awkwardly twisted and tangled beneath it. My body's position reflected on the overall situation almost ironically, in a way.

I probably should have cared about that. Falling over, and all. Especially when considering how stupid I must have looked like. But I didn't mind it all that much, for whatever reason. Instead, I only kept staring ahead, blinking, breathing. It was all that I was good for, anyway. Or what? Wasn't it, really?

I don't know. I think it was somewhere around that time that I started sobbing around like a filly who lost her mom in a crowd, or something. Now, a few sobs usually didn't matter to me that much, even if it still felt pretty pathetic. But once those broke lose into a fully-grown stream running down my cheeks, there was no way I could ever hold it back. And I didn't care. If it just all ended, right there and then, with me rotting away while lamenting myself and drowning in self-pity, then so be it. In some way, my life probably led up to this point, anyway.

How long I continued to sit around like that, I can't remember. Of course, I didn't have anything with me to check the time, so I never actually knew in the first place. It might have been two minutes, but it might well have been four or five hours, or something. I only recall that I stopped myself from going on like this after some time, realizing it wouldn't get me anywhere, really. Wailing around like a factory siren at the end of a shift might just have been what I wanted, but it certainly wasn't what I deserved. Or something. Could I even judge myself, anymore? Could I do that at all?

I don't know. I really don't. At some point, and I'm pretty sure the sun was already setting at the time, I got back up on my hooves and galloped off. Where that would be, I had no idea. But I needed to go somewhere, didn't I? It was getting cold, too. So I guess the setting sun and all that really did account for the situation...whatever.

I dashed through the underpass within a few seconds, and ended up on some main street's sidewalk. It wasn't as crowded as usual, as far as I remembered. I hadn't seen a crowded Fillydephia street in a while, though. I didn't see a whole lot of the city in general while stuck in that backyard. However long that must have taken. Could be days. I had positively no idea.

Fillydelphia was a maze of streets, and roads, and whatnot. Most of them also applied to the whole rectangular grid thing, but even that wouldn't help me getting around. In the end, I just kept on wandering through the city being completely lost and without any specific destination. Of course, I had no idea where I started, either. So getting lost probably wasn't that much of a surprise.

I kept going, though. It was sort of hard to give up, seeing as I had pretty much done so already. At some point during my walk, the sun disappeared completely, and I had only the dark night sky to accompany me from there on out. There wasn't any rain, but a pretty harsh wind that kept on blowing for hours at a time. It felt like the cold was killing me, really. Even my coat didn't do a whole lot of prevention against the breeze. But then again, I didn't care. I might have gone looking for shelter like...wherever, but I didn't really feel like doing that.

Funny enough, I accidentally passed by the train station at some point. The same one that I first arrived in, that was. It was easily two or three in the morning by now, and even a central place like this lay mostly abandoned. But the lights inside weren't turned off, and even all these flashy, colorful neon ads were still glowing. Which was interesting. The central station wasn't necessarily lit up like that in just any city. Most of them, yes. But not all.

For a moment upon seeing the terminal, I hesitated. Not for very long, but still I did. Only after a few seconds did I turn around to face it, and started walking towards the entrance. It wasn't locked, either. That surprised me at first, but it really shouldn't have. It was a public place, after all.

Once I had entered the main hall, I took a moment to rest, falling back onto my haunches for the second time that day. And for reasons I couldn't possibly explain, I suddenly felt a lot better than I had done over in that backyard or on my way here. I even got a little something like a smile onto my muzzle. A short-lived one, sure. It wasn't very strong or convincing, either. But it was better than my earlier desperation, I think.

I don't know. It all just felt right, being back here again, and such. Getting that comfy feeling of being at home filled me with warmth from somewhere inside. Even my damaged ribs couldn't make up against that. And while feeling at home in an empty train station might sound sad in the ears of some ponies, I could only cherish the moment. I really did. Then, for no particular reason whatsoever, I decided I'd get on the next train that left Filly. It didn't matter where it would take me; I'd see about that soon enough.