"Your rent is due, Mr. Way. It's 45 dollars, this month," my landlady tells me.

"I just lost my job, Mrs. Wilson. Can I please-"

"-Mr. Way. I know that you're not from around here, like my other tenants. But I thought that a graduate from such a prestigious university would be different from these poor people. Was I wrong?"

I sigh in defeat. "I... Do not worry. I just need to gather the money I got elsewhere. I will pay you tonight. That's a promise."

"As it's the first time, I will come back tonight. If you can't pay me then, I will have to expel you immediately. This is your only warning," Mrs. Wilson says. 

"I'll have the money. Actually, I think I got some left here, wait a minute..." I rummage through my stuff and gather a few bills and remember I have ten dollars hidden in The Great Gatsby. "I can pay my rent now, but I'll have to fast for a couple of days..."

I'd better look for a job to make ends meet. The 24th street was always a great place to get that kind of job. The New York Express, the Sunday News, the New York Global... They all have their headquarters here.

My diploma and my experience might not get me a full-time job as an editor, but they'll be more than enough to find a part time job.

But for some reason, I'm refused a job in all the journals I could find. Even the New York Daily tells me that they are not hiring. I show them the card James gave me, but that led me nowhere. 'A mistake', they say. All the great editors of the 24th have rejected me. I can't even find an internship.

Can I keep working in the media? Can I even stay in New York?

I go home, frustrated and depressed from that job seeking. And when I arrive home, something even more depressing happens.

"Do you have my 45 dollars, Mr. Way?" Mrs. Wilson asks. I nod and have no other choice but to hand her the money.

"I knew you weren't like my other tenants. How is the job hunting going?"

"I-"

"You shouldn't be working so hard. Find yourself a wealthy wife and things will get so much better." Mrs. Wilson pats my shoulder. I hum. She's only trying to help. "Actually, I had this neighbor whose niece lives around. She's wealthy, but she has children from her first marriage. Would you want me to introduce her to you?"

"Thank you very much for your concern, but I'll be fine. I like being a journalist." I smile sadly, my eyes wandering across the room, as if looking for some invisible solution.

"It's your life. But as you are currently jobless, I will ask you a weekly rant now." Her smile morphs into an unyielding expression. I keep advocating for myself.

"Mrs. Wilson, as you said, I'm still jobless, and my budget is not what it used to be," I say as softy as I can in hopes to reach her heart.

She sighs. "Mr. Way, please understand things from where I stand. These days are rough for everyone. After all, you're not from around here. You can go home whenever you'd like."

"Could I please pay you every two weeks?"

"I made you a recommendation. As you lack enthusiasm, I must ask you a weekly payment. By the way, your family called this morning. You should install a phone in your bedroom. It gets annoying to have to deliver messages all the time."

They called? Did something happen?

"Please excuse me, Mrs. Wilson. I have to call them back now."

I rush to the phone booth down the street and dial my parents' number. "Hello, please connect me to number 2020, Way farm at Goose Creek, New Jersey."

The operator answers me and asks me to wait a moment. That's what I do until I hear a familiar voice.

"Gee, is that you? How are you?" I recognize Mikey's voice. My little brother, who stayed at the farm to help dad.

"I'm fine, Mikey. And you?" I smile.

"Oh well, nothing incredible happens here, but I'm happy. I hope your life is a little bit less boring, in the Big Apple."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mikey. Being happy is all that matters. Can I talk to Mom? I think she and Dad tried to reach out."

"Oh, sure. Have fun in New York!"

I hear some noise, distant voices, then my mother. "Gerard, how are you? How is work?"

"Hum... Everything is okay." I smile through the rising tears. "How are you, and Dad?"

"It's all good. All the money we make goes to the bank to pay the interests and taxes, but we're making it."

I frown. "That's a vicious circle, Mom. If your revenue ever lowers, you'll be into trouble!"

"There is nothing we can do about it, my Ger-Bear. The taxes have increased a lot. We would have gone bankrupt if we hadn't taken out our mortgage. Let's change topics."

I can't see Mom, yet I can see her kind, ever so brave smile, tinted with sadness. That makes me so helpless and angry. I hum.

"You know that you can come home whenever. Your father and I are expecting you and your brother to take over the farm."

"Tell him to come back soon. What's so special about big cities anyway!" I hear Dad yell, probably from the other side of the room as he usually does.

"Ignore him," Mom tells me. "He's just trying to be funny. You know that we support you in your projects."

"Thank you, Mom. I will make it."

Talking to my parents give me the strength to keep going, to keep fighting. No matter what, he and Mikey will always be there for me. Even if I can't work for a big journal, there are dozens of small ones in New York. There has to be a spot available for me.

______

If the 24th street is the street dedicated to big journals, the 25th is the best to get some info. The graduates in journalism would never wander there to get a job, unless they failed in the 24th street of course. If my former classmates found out that I was in the 25th, they would make fun of me.

After a whole day of research, all the agencies I visited refused to hire me once again... I start to get desperate. I have visited them all but one. The building only has two stories, clearly contrasting with the nearby skyscrapers. It's such an old building... But here stands the Gotham News.

"Can I help you, lovely gentleman?" a man calls me. He is about as tall as me, white, dark hair going upward. His clothes are tern and not particularly nice-looking in my opinion, but they are obviously expensive and well cut. Tailor-made, obviously.
He is wearing a red bowtie and there is a blue tissue tucked into the pocket on his heart.

What strikes me the most about him is his assurance that almost feels like arrogance to me.

"Nice to meet you. Is this the Gotham News?"

The man grins. "That is correct," the man said with an ounce of drama. "I'm Brendon Urie. I work here as a journalist."

"I'm Gerard Way. I would like to know if the journal is hiring journalists."

"Of course. New talents are always very much welcome in the Gotham News. I'm sure that you will join us soon."

"Really? Thank you for your encouragements."

"This sad expression doesn't suit your face, Gerard dear." Brendon pouts. "Come on, give it a try. See this severe and extremely tall man, over there? That's the editor-in-chief. I won't steal any more of your precious time. Good luck!"

I watch him leave. Despite his attitude, he seems to be a good person.

I go inside the facility and meet with the man Brendon showed me. "Hello, good afternoon."

"Hello to you," the very tall man answers politely. He seems really nice. "This is the Gotham News. Are you here to give us a lead or some news?"

"No, at least not yet." I can't repress my impish smile. "I would like to work as a journalist for you," I say, then I introduce myself nervously. "I'm Gerard Way. I graduated in journalism at Harvard with a scholarship, and I was an intern for a couple of months at the Sunday News. I infiltrated the Metropolitan Museum, and I wrote an article about it. I'm capable in all the aspects of journalism, including interviews, writing, editing, commenting..."

"My name is Dallon Weekes. Do you know our journal, Mr. Way?" Mr. Weekes asks me.

"I..."

"Good, but I must insist on something. Our journal, the Gotham News, is different from the others. Allow me to ask you a couple of questions. After all, this is a job interview." Mr. Weekes' eyes are piercing through my soul, it seems. "What are a journalist's key values?"

"The basic principles of a news report are to accurately expose the facts. We must report the truth, without twisting it to our liking. We must also put aside prejudice and personal opinions, and resist temptation or threats from any other party."

"That is correct. Those are the principles that we should stick to no matter what." Mr. Weekes nods, his face staying expressionless the way it always seems to be. "Next question. Should the private matters of public personalities be published for the public's entertainment?"

I shake my head. "We should only write about topics really worth interest, or about what is related to these people's profession and public interest. In addition, public personalities are also citizens who have the right to have a private life."

"Last question. Up to where can the press go in its quest of truth? In other words, should articles respect so-called moral and ethical values?"

I shudder slightly. "I- I mean, as long as we know the right people to get information, I suppose that we will always be able to dig up the truth," I state. I don't want to sound like someone who will cause trouble to the journal I'm not even working for yet. "In the modern press, information from insiders of the concerned parties take a significant part in the search of truth. Every human has their weaknesses. As long as we can understand them, everybody can be an informer and contribute to the news."

"Excellent." A very slight smile appears on the face of the human asparagus that is standing in front of me. "There was no correct and no wrong answer to this last question. Your answer showed me your approach of journalistic matters, what kind of journalist you want to be. I can't help you a lot on that, but I can give you a chance to express and show your talent."

"Do you mean...that I'm hired?"

"Yes, Mr. Way." Mr. Weekes smiled a little. "You can start tomorrow. I hope that you will remember the answers that you just gave me and that you will stick to those beautiful beliefs. It's important."

He starts confiding in me, telling me about his hopes for the future of the press. I'm lucky that I got hired at the Gotham News today and that I'm able to pursue my career as a journalist.

I can't wait to start tomorrow. Let's hope everything will go smoothly.

______