"Mind the gap. This is a Northern line service to…High Barnet. The next station is…Belsize Park."

After three months of living in London, Frank still found the pauses in announcement amusing, as if the voice wanted to intrigue the passengers with something like "and the Oscar goes to…." There was nothing amusing about travelling by the evening tube, however.

People of all nationalities looked tired and indifferent, as the train dragged along the dark tunnels. Was it rainy November or typical London "whatever, never mind" behaviour, Frank still didn't know. Neither did he care. He found it comforting that he was just one of many and that everyone minded their own business and he didn't have to catch anyone's sympathetic glances or hear "I was so sorry to hear the news".

The train was approaching his station. He grabbed his backpack and stood up.

"Mind the gap".

Once outside, Frank lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The bad habit didn't help him deal with stress anymore, but it was a familiar attribute of his new life, one where he was fine with destroying his health. His tiny studio apartment in Camden Town district of London was on the 1st floor he still was fit enough to use the stairs without having to catch his breath at the top. And there was no more running after the criminals, so why in the world would he need healthy lungs?

Frank continued his walk down the dark street, careful to circle the puddles. The air smelled of rain and wet earth and almost left a sweetish taste in his throat. Just as he approached the door to the apartment complex, a drizzle began. Somehow, when you go to London for vacation, it's always warm and sunny, but once you move to live there, chilly drizzle just never stops.

He closed the door to his apartment and switched on the lights. The place was small, a living room and a kitchenette, but it was well-equipped and cosy. Frank seldom saw or heard his neighbours and it was just what he needed.

The 20-year-old turned on the TV, which showed some talent-searching show, and went to open a window. He still sniggered when the Brits called this action "open a window", because their strange window-frames that slid 7 inches up didn't allow anyone to even stick their heads out into the street. Then again, sticking a head out into the street was an act of interest in the street's life, which was very arrogant. Very arrogant indeed.

Frank took his supper out of the fridge – ready-to-serve salads were easy to find in every food store and it made independent living so much easier. He missed his mother's cooking, home-made and with a touch of motherly care, as he was fed up with pre-made cuisine and sandwiches, so popular in England these days, but he hoped that the fed-up stage would progress to a never-mind one soon.

The talent show was no good, so he took the remote and searched through other Saturday night TV entertainment opportunities. He finally found a channel that showed an American movie and made himself comfortable on the couch. One funny thing about living alone was that he could talk to technical equipment without receiving smart remarks. So he felt free to repeat after the movie characters, just to practice the American accent. Three months of living in England were just enough to start to pick the British pronunciation and some catchy phrases.

Watching the family melodrama reminded him that he should have called home yesterday ("yestahday" his mind corrected him). With the time difference, it was 3 PM in Bayport. He didn't know if his father was there or working on a case in some far-away part of the world, but his mother and aunt were most certainly there. Frank was not sure if he wanted to talk to them alone – somehow, his father decreased the emotional levels of their phone conversations, almost cutting it to "hi – how're you – good , you? – great – what's new – nothing, you? – it's Bayport, nothing's changing here, you know – yeah… - *awkward pause* okay, I must go for now, it's late in here – okay, call you next week? – sure, bye – bye". Short and informational. Everyone knew everyone was fine and it was fine for everyone.

Frank never took the blame off himself for the emotional distance within the family. When he transferred from New York University to University College London, it was not to get a better education. When he left the States and moved to Britain, it was not to experience the adventures of immigration. When he left his family behind, it was not to prove anyone he was finally an independent adult.

Some nights, he wondered who he was now. Well, he was a promising student at UCL. He was an acquaintance of some people. He was a decent neighbour in a nice London district. He was still a son to his parents. He was many things.

But most of all, he was still himself, broken by his brother's death four months ago.