**Hey all, I’m listening to sappy music and a storyline started to grow in my mind. For some reason I’ve been feeling more romantic than usual, unfortunately. But here’s a song fic for you all! It’s to John Mayer’s “City Love”, a fantabulous song.  Also a good one: St. Patrick’s Day.  But that may be another story? **

I never liked this apple much
It always seemed too big to touch

Luke rattled the key in the lock, muttering about cheap doors and shoving a shoulder to the door until it creaked open grumpily.  Outside was the crumbling hallway that always smelled suspect.  Peeling wallpaper showed at least five different remodelings, the last one dated around ’75.  As soon as you managed to throw open the door to 204, though, the distressing smell of cat urine fades and worn tiles littered with candy wrappers became a beautifully old polished hardwood floor, smelling of spicy cologne wrapped with the faint colors of good food. 

A tiny apartment that was sparsely decorated to make it seem bigger was like a haven in the large, grungy New York.  Shoving the door shut, he slipped his shoes off, ran, and slid across the floor to his bedroom.  Humming to himself, he tossed his jacket over a small black loveseat.  Changing clothes quickly, he flopped himself down in the tiny living room-ette and gazed at the smoggy day, framed in the diminutive window by a fire escape. He always wondered if he would be able to wiggle through there in a panic.  It took awhile when calm, and he was afraid his pants would catch on fire while he tried to get his shoulders through.  He had too much time on his hands.

I can't remember how I found
My way before she came around

He very often felt lost here, though those times were quickly vanishing.  Raised in a tiny suburb in Pennsylvania, he was unsettled by the fact he could walk down the street everyday and not see someone he recognized.  Living in the heart of downtown New York, he made his money writing for the New Yorker and drawing political cartoons.  In between these creative spurts, he worked at the Gap, and loathed every minute. 

His personality tended towards the funny tee shirts and his style of dressing was whatever happened to be on top of the pile.  Or drawer, as the case was now.  Neatness was creeping into his bedroom.  A soft smile tugged at his lips as he grabbed a beer out of the fridge and pulled his slightly too big jeans up a bit.  Jeans were the only things he deigned to wear from his work, as at least one label was required to work there.  It was kind of like in Office Space: mandatory flair.  He had clothes for the store that screamed prep that soothed the shallower cashiers.  He would often wander to remote parts of the store and fold things, composing a new article in his head while trying to block out the thumping bass that blared at passersby. 

I tell everyone
I smile just because
I've got a city love
I found it in Lydia

But recently, a miracle occurred that made him believe that maybe there was a supreme consciousness.  When he was muttering to himself music to counter the mind numbing hip hop blaring out of the speakers, a blonde bubble gum pop princess, sweet in her own way, laughed as she pulled a friend with a pained look on her face into the store.  Bobbing his head to his own music, Luke didn’t notice them until the blonde grinningly tugged his back pocket. 

Jumping, he greeted them with a lopsided ‘talking to customers’ smile, which the girls at the store swore up and down would melt an ice-queen’s heart.  The blonde continued, obviously in charge and ignoring the hunted look on her brunette friend’s face.  She wanted to make over her friend and wanted his advice.  He leaned back against the table and raised an eyebrow.

“How do you know I’m not gay?” He shifted his feet and cocked his head to the side.  The brunette’s eyes lit up as she thought she saw a way out.  The blonde snorted.

“You stand too manly. And you don’t wear the clothes correctly to be a gay man at GAP.  C’mon . . .”

Astonished by her insight into human body language, he sat through a barrage of the styles he hated.  Her friend was almost as tortured and afterwards, she put a hand on his arm and whispered, “I’m so sorry, she thinks that I dress wrong.  She’s trying to be nice . . .geh.” 

He laughed quietly and showed her the tee shirt he had on under a hunter green V-neck.  The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles posed for her.  And that was the beginning of a wonderful thing.

And I can't remember
life before her name.

**Ok, there you go. First verse. I will continue later. **