Author's note: This is my very first story and English isn't my first language, so I'd really appreciate your feedback. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Gotham.

It was unusually cold for this time of the year, and frankly, things have been unusual for her lately, too. Rubbing her hands together and breathing onto the cold, pink skin in front of her face did not do her much good. The fact that she wore only a sweater instead of a jacket did not improve things much. She could feel the cold in her bones and could barely master up the energy to quicken her step to get home quicker and perhaps warm up due to the slight exercise.

Once she got home, she would turn the heating on, treat herself to a hot shower and look for this one pair of woollen socks she owned- which were a friend's first attempt to knitting something and looked awfully in both colour and form. She wore them with pride- in the confides of her home. She would also treat herself to a canned tomato soup. This was not so much a treat as the result of being broke. Moving into this city, paying a ridiculously high rent for a small apartment, and trying not to starve have most definitely taught her how to better organise her finances.

After three awkward job interviews in the cause of 4 days, she was invited for a trial working day at a café. Not being too experienced in that field, her feet hurt from walking and her mouth hurt from smiling for 8 hours straight. It was moments like this that made her curse having studied humanities and not economics. The literature degree might have been fun to obtain and surely her parents had been very proud of her, but it most definitely wasn't to helpful at interviews.
She wanted to be an author and write children's novels, maybe taking an art class or two and learn how to illustrate them. Stories about friendship, adventures, obstacles, laughter, and tears. Stories that would entertain, reassure, and comfort young people. Stories with a morale, a smart twist, and vast grey zones. Sitting in coffee houses, drinking Chai Lattes, skipping between watching people and getting absorbed into a world that she was creating, that was the life she had been dreaming of.

It was not like the writing-thing was not working at all, she had just been… stuck. Nothing but accusingly white pages for ages. No talks with parents, no walks with pets, no going out with friends would help. She would spend nights, staring at the ceiling, and seek distraction during her days. She bought a fluffier pillow. Then a harder one. It took her almost 4 months and more pillow purchases than she is proud of to realize that something needed to change. She had decided to leave her small town and move into a bigger city that was pulsating with life and home of so many people with so many different stories that she would never tire of listening to them. If she could not write fiction for children, then maybe she could write about the life of real people. If she had nothing to say, then maybe she could start listening instead.

She was not the first person to have a blog, and it surely wasn't as cool to have one anymore as it had been back when she was in school, but she considered it a good idea to tackle her… writer's block. Furthermore, it seemed like a really good idea to get to know people and a reason to leave her crappy apartment. Her first idea was to find people who differ tremendously from each other in terms of their occupation and lifestyle and ask them a total of 20 short questions and see where they give similar and different answers. It was not the most original idea in the world, but she hoped it would turn out as a nice little project that could give her the inspiration she needed to continue with her novel.

Six weeks ago, she had arrived in this city, and given herself more than enough time to settle in. Her furniture was up and standing, her clothes were put in her closet and her books on the shelves. She had only one blog entry and officially run out of excuses. The next month would be more than tight if she did not get a job. It was about time that she started looking for an occupation, especially if she was to look at her bank account which had be somewhat inconsolable after she had transferred the deposit to her landlord.

Once she got home, she felt utterly relieved when the heating went on right away and the water in the shower only took a minute to get warm. With a cup of tea and a can of tomato soup, she settled down in front of her old laptop, waiting patiently for it to come to life. Can I pretend to be a hipster when my computer is ten years old? Or does it only work with mobile phones? It was only an eternity later that she opened her blog and looked at the only single entry she had written so far. It was about an old lady she had found sitting alone in a café down the street.

Do you enjoy living in this city?

Sometimes I feel like things are changing too fast for me. Back in my days, it was easier to keep track of this city. I knew my neighbours and they knew me, and we would do each other favours, help each other out. Gotham was always big and loud, but once you were surrounded by loved ones, you would just go into the park and spend some hours in the sun, my husband was always talking, always telling funny stories, and embarrassing our children. Now, my husband is gone, my children are working all the time, I don't know my neighbours, and they shut down the park and put another grey building with lots of glass where it used to be. Some days, I don't even remember what it used to look like. I could never forget the smell of the grass and the sound of our laughter. I would never want to leave, all my happy memories are here, I don't think I could ever sleep without the noise of the city. (Laura, 82)

It had been naïve of her to think that she would be able to write only one or two pages for each person while asking them 20 questions. During her talk with the old lady, she decided to only pick three of the questions she had made up and asked her about the job she used to have before becoming a pensioner and what she would change if she had one wish.

I wish that things would slow down for just one more day and people would stop for a second and care a little bit more about each other. I don't have any regrets, I have had and done everything I wanted, but it would be so nice to trust strangers again…

Thinking of the lady made her feel happy and sad at the same time. She decided to show her face again at the café once she had a job and could afford a cup of coffee without feeling decadent. It would be nice to show the lady that she had not forgotten her after their conversation, that she would take time and be a nice stranger.

Her blog entry had a total of three hits. Shame. She closed the website and opened the document that she had started to dread. 150 pages. Some chapters, some paragraphs, some just basic ideas. But it was just not right. She skimmed over her work and contemplated what to do. She had grown attached to her characters and their backstories. She could not delete it and start over, but she also could not ignore one tiny little problem: There was just no plot. She closed the document again and lurched into the bathroom to get her toothbrush. She was halfway there when her phone vibrated.

Dear Miss Brent, we hope you enjoyed your day at our café and would like to offer you a job as a waitress. Please let us know if you are interested by tomorrow afternoon. We look forward to hearing from you! - Arthur Phelps

She would go and get that coffee with the old lady. And some real food. Maybe pasta. Or, dear lord, vegetables. Maybe even a new pair of socks.