The past three days have made me realize New York is fucking expensive. I blew half the $300 mom gave me this weekend with Chad and another $50 on lunch and dinner on Monday. As I was getting off work today, Chad messaged me asking if I wanted to get a beer. With Chad, it's never just a beer. Just as I was about to text him some bullshit excuse, I got a frantic call from Julie. It was actually pretty good timing. I haven't heard from Julie or anyone at the home since I left for the UK. She asked me if I was free and able to fill in, and for some reason, I said yes.

The drive down to The Creek is long as fuck; I'm almost glad my car doesn't need gas. Almost. I lock the car door and pace around the front entrance for a few minutes. I haven't stepped foot in this building in a year and a half. I wonder who's still around. Harold is probably still kicking; that geezer will likely live until he's a hundred. Harold always used to say that the only acceptable way to go is with a whiskey in one hand and your lady's ass in the other. Seeing as he's 90 years old and single, he'll have to hang on until he finds himself a girlfriend.

I swing my guitar over my shoulder as I push through the frosted front doors of Peace Creek Retirement Home.

Well, it still smells like geriatrics in here. The same floral wallpaper is plastered along the walls, and shitty wooden green fabric chairs are lined up by the front window. The receptionist at the front desk looks up at me and smiles.

"Asher!" She scoots out of her chair and circles the desk, limping with every step. "Thank you for coming! We haven't seen you in forever. Gosh, we've missed you." She wraps her meaty arms around me.

"Yeah, it's been a while, Julie." I give her a quick pat and look down at the cast enveloping her leg. "What happened? Another heated game of Mahjong with Charles?" I ask jokingly.

"Oh, pish." Julie playfully swats at my arm. "I tripped over the dang doorsill last week. My little hiccup has been the talk of the town all week." She pauses as her smile fades. "Charlie passed away a couple of months ago."

My chest tightens. Charles was one of my favorites. That man took so much of my money. Never bet a retiree that you can beat them in Mahjong, you'll walk out with your tail between your legs and your wallet empty.

I scratch my head as I look around. "Is uh- Is Harold still here?" I ask quietly.

Julie loops her arm through mine as we walk to the activity center. "Oh, you know Harold, he'll only go when he's ready."

Relief washes over my body. "And he's not...ready?"

"Relax, Asher. He's still here." Julie smiles. "He's so excited to see you! He wants to hear all about your adventures in London. Honestly, we didn't even know if you were back in town. Calling you was a hail mary, as Harold would put it. I know you said you weren't available anymore but Jordy, that's the new guy, canceled and we were desperate. Thanks for answering the call and coming by. I'm sure you'll put on a great show."

As we enter the activity center, we're greeted by quietly mumbled hellos. I scan the room looking for Harold. As anticipated, he's huddled around a circular wooden table, seated comfortably in his wheelchair with playing cards fanned out in his hand.

A wide smile spreads on my face as I walk towards my old pal. He's playing poker with two other decaying old men.

"What's up, dickhead? Long time no see." I grin as I give him a gentle pat on the back. His head turns quickly, well as quickly as a 90-year-old can muster.

"You little prick!" Harold grabs my sleeve and pulls me down towards him. I have to catch my guitar before it slides off my back. "When did your sorry ass get back into town?"

My mouth sets into a hard line. He's going to punch me. "Nine months ago, actually," I say as I brace for impact.

Harold winds up his frail and veiny fist and taps it on my jaw. "Fucking guy." He laughs as I stand back up. "Al, Watson, this is Asher. He used to volunteer here a few times a week when he was in high school. Then he left us to go gallivanting in Europe, like a traitor."

"Awe, you missed me." I cock my head to the side. "No need to put on an act Harold. Just admit it."

Al and Watson slowly begin to stand up. "It's nice to meet you, Asher. We're going to get some jello. Why don't you boys catch up," one of them says in a low voice.

I sit down in an empty chair and prop my guitar bag on the table. "So, how you been Har? Still chasing tail?"

A deep grumble escapes the back of his throat. "I don't need to anymore," he says as he nods towards a different table, pointing to a small elderly woman. "Her name's Annabelle. She used to be a gymnast."

Annabelle looks up and waves her manicured fingers at us before blowing Harold a kiss which he catches and puts in his pocket. "Oh man, you're whipped," I observe as I wave back.

Harold pulls a comb out of his robe pocket and runs it through his seven white hairs. "Thought it was time to finally settle down," he jokes. "How about you? You still with Samantha?"

A twinge of pain captures my heart and I cringe. "Uh- we broke up before I went to the UK."

"Oh, sorry Ash." Harold's eyes fill with sympathy. "What happened? You two were smitten as kittens when you were coming here. I swear the way you looked at each other while you sang made the whole home think you'd get married right after high school."

I started volunteering here so I'd have something to put on my application to Oxford but even after I fulfilled my hours I kept coming back. Old folks are a riot to hang out with. They all have no zero filter and are full of crazy-ass stories. I brought Sam with me a couple of times to perform duets. Fuck, I brought Sam everywhere. She's literally ruined all my favorite places in New York.

I squirm in my seat. "She uh- cheated on me right before graduation."

"Sam? No way." Harold's milky eyes widen. "With someone you know?"

Man, old people sure are nosy fucks.

"Funnily enough, it was with the fucking Oxford rep who interviewed both of us for the general arts program. I probably wouldn't have even found out if she didn't tell her best friend who then decided to tell another friend and another. You know how that shit goes. Eventually, it got back to me."

"And she didn't deny it?" Harold detaches a straw from his juice box and tries to insert it, unsuccessfully. I grab the juice box and push the straw in for him. "Thanks, " he mutters.

"We went around in circles for a while but then she broke down and told me the rumor was true," I explain. "Wanna know how she tried to justify it?"

"This outta be good," Harold snorts.

"She said that she wanted to make sure she got accepted so we could be together after graduation. Isn't that fucked?"

"What a cunt," Harold rasps and my jaw drops as I look around to see if anyone heard him. He rolls his eyes. "Close that mouth, boy. I'm old, I can say whatever I want."

I laugh as I start to shuffle the deck of cards. "I mean, I agree, but Jesus Harold, you're really lacking tact these days."

Harold picks up the poker chips and piles them on the edge of the table. "When your days are numbered, tact is the last thing on your mind." He pulls out a cribbage board from underneath his wheelchair. "So, did she still go to Oxford after all of that?"

I deal out the cards. "Your crib," I state as I scan my hand. "And no, thank fuck. She decided to go to a school on the west coast. Word got around about what she did so she left the city, but apparently, she's back in town now."

"Shit kid, rough year," Harold sighs as he tosses two cards into his crib and I follow suit. "I heard about your pops. Can't say I didn't see that coming. The way you talked about him always left a bad taste in my mouth." Harold cuts the deck and I flip the card.

"Yeah, mine too." I nod as we begin pegging. "15 for 2."

Harold curses under his breath. "Nice to see you haven't forgotten how to play. I always had a feeling you were letting me and Samantha win," he says, but quickly adds, "Sorry. I won't bring her up again."

"It's cool, man. I'm fine." I half-smile even though the mention of her name causes my stomach to turn. "I think you'd be proud of me actually."

Harold lets out a hacking laugh. "Don't tell me you finally learned how to piss standing up."

"You're lucky you're old, Har," I threaten as I roll my eyes. "But for real. I've decided to follow in your footsteps. Bachelor for life."

Harold puts his hand on mine and I look up to meet his worrisome gaze. "Oh, come on Ash. Don't do that."

"What? Why?" I narrow my eyes. "Every time we used to talk, you were on my ass about Sam. You said that I was missing out by being tied down."

"I said a lot of shit that you shouldn't listen to." Harold purses his deflated lips. "I had fun throughout the years, that's true. But when I see all my buddy's kids and grandkids come by and visit, it really doesn't seem worth it. I have no one to visit me, Ash. I'm lucky to have found Annabelle, especially at my age." Harold shrugs. "Just something to think about it."

For the next twenty minutes before my set, I mindlessly play crib with Harold. The fact he's backpedaling on all the sage advice he's given me over the years is frustrating. Man is probably off his rockers right now, there's no way he meant what he said. He's never been hurt, hell, he's never even had to worry about getting hurt.

After our game is done, which I won, Julie sets up a chair and microphone at the front of the room.

"Hello, folks! We have a special treat for you today for Tuesday Tunes. Please give a big Peace Creek round of applause for Asher Prescott," Julie announces and nods towards me.

"Alright, Harold." I grab my guitar case. "That's my cue. Thanks for the game."

"Break a leg, kid." Harold pauses and then laughs "I'm sure Julie could use a hobble buddy."

I flip Harold the bird and he reciprocates.

I plant myself down on the barstool and tune my guitar. Shit, I haven't played in front of people in almost a year. I take a stabilizing breath.

"Hey, my name's Asher and this is an original song called Firestorm."

My muscle memory kicks in as I strum the first two cords, closing my eyes I begin to sing. I let the notes seep into my core and fill every inch of my being with melodic melancholy. As the song progresses I find myself entranced in the music, in the lyrics, in the memories of the songs' origin. I move seamlessly between ballads and when the last note echoes through the room, I open my eyes to find every resident clapping and hollering. I look away, feeling wildly embarrassed. God, I'm sweaty. I need to take a shower before the fucking tutor arrives.

As I pack up my guitar, Harold rolls towards me. "That was... something, kid. You sure you're ok?"

I look at him confused. "Yeah, why?"

"No reason. Just asking." Harold shrugs noncommittally. "You'll visit again?"

I put my hand on his shoulder and give him a gentle squeeze. "Who else is going to kick your ass in crib?"