The Other Side of Eden C1

*removed*

Ha! This girl has the same name as me. I've never read anything with my name in it, and it is really bizarre.
I want to know what she looks like. The people in here are characterized well, all of them. She seems to be the typical sweet-and-quirky girl, but the narrator hasn't said anything about what she's wearing, only describing his own clothing and that of the mysterious man in the black trench coat.

This is fascinating! What's wrong with this Andrew fellow? Did he have some accident in his past involving drowning? His character is easy to sympathize with and really draws the reader in.

Diction: One issue seems to be over-description and that the sentences are mostly long, with similar structure.

The stars burned fiercely in an austere sky and I suddenly realized that the singing had stopped. The fire had practically burned itself out and as a result we were all indistinguishable silhouettes.

Here's an example. Same length, same rhythm, same way of speaking. I'd like to see more variation.
The use of adjectives isn't overwhelming but some are definitely unnecessary, and some words could be replaced with simpler or more unique ones. Having a good vocabulary doesn't mean you have to parade it. Some examples of places where the diction is strange:

star laced firmament.

I was filled with a melancholic appreciation of the scene.

silently integrating into a flawless circle

midst of my enthrallment

unwilling to exhibit affection publicly
"Exhibit" sounds like a textbook. Just use "show".

stars burned fiercely in an austere sky

ordained with fake wooden panels, linoleum hallways and a cheap scarlet carpet on which the mismatching furniture lay arranged in a circle

simplistic distinction would leave a lasting imprint

Reality lurched, distending into illogicalness
Illogicalness? You can't be serious.

legitimacy of light would disperse the feeling

The dialogue was pretty good, very realistic, except for this one part:

“Am I interrupting something boys?”

I assume the narrator is speaking to his peers. Here, he sounds like a teacher or parent. Just nix the word "boys" and that'll be gone.

You say this is Chapter One? I can't wait for future chapters.
Colleen

Apartment 6 was in desperate need of painting. The two bedroom apartment was on the second floor of a building in a small discounted part of the neighborhood. The old brick building in which apartment 6 resided hadn’t always been an apartment building though, but had once belonged to a middle aged couple and their children. But following the fatal heart attack of the father, it had been sold quickly and cheaply to a young real estate agent, eager to jumpstart his career. The single mother of three had been all too willing to sell the urban style home, being more concerned with escaping the memories of a life and marriage that she felt her home refused to allow her to forget.

That was fifteen years ago, and while the renovations had left the apartment building habitable, it hadn’t proceeded far beyond what the inspector demanded in the building code. It wasn’t much, and after having renovated to the extent of his ambition, the real estate agent decided to sell his project to a newly retired veteran, who thought he could expand on the business and maybe have something to keep him occupied during the last thirty years of his life.

After that it had fallen into disrepair and the bright red bricks had dulled and crumbled, the linoleum floors began peeling and the carpeted hallways became soiled beyond restoration. Still, the old man enjoyed the conversations he had with his tenants, and though mostly frivolous in nature, he knew that it was far better than what his friends in the nursing homes had. For that he was thankful, and made a concerted effort to be as lenient and reasonable as possible with regards to rent and damages done by the apartment’s occupants. He spent most of his time in his room, reading through war books while sitting in his grandfather’s old chair, listening to the steady clinking of the water through the pipes. There was not much excitement left in his life, but he felt content to sit back and play his small role in the lives of all those who passed through his doors; mostly university kids looking for cheap residencies.

Up in apartment 6, Andrew sat at the round table next to the fire escape, staring out the only window with a decent view. He looked at the dark green walls, where the paint had begun to come off in patches, exposing the red bricks beneath. There was no insulation on that wall, so he could hear the breeze whistling in through the small cracks in the mortar.

‘Maybe I should board that up.’

‘Some other time’ he decided, and settled back into his chair and began typing on his laptop. This was the only way he could justify staying home on a Friday night alone. He would spend the next few hours spinning his loneliness into poetry, drink rum, and amass all the contentment he could from the warmth it would spark in his stomach.

The twilight slowly began to settle over downtown Ottawa. He swayed in his seat as he watched the last bit of light retreat slowly into the farthest corners of his apartment, leaving him encompassed in darkness. It was only eight o’clock; the city would be coming alive shortly. Simon would be starting the late shift at the museum and Jaz, well, Jaz would be off frequenting a bar somewhere.

He stumbled out of his chair and moved towards the window, where he could begin to see the nightlife emerging. A drug dealer stood in an alleyway, talking on a cell phone. Andrew pressed his forehead against the cold glass and watched the man, his rank breath fogging up the window.

The laptop cast an electric glow that hung in the air above the table. Andrew reached beside it and took the small canister in his hand, twirling it in his fingers, listening to the rattle the small caplets made as they tumbled over each other. It was a prescription, but he was hesitant to start the dose, because as long as he avoided the thoughts, the longer he could pretend that they held no consequence.

‘There are too many thoughts here.’

He quickly placed the medication in the top cupboard, and then grabbed his coat from the rack. In the parking lot, he hesitated as he went to draw his car keys from his pocket.

“I’m not drunk,” he said aloud to himself.

In his car he drummed his fingers hesitantly against the steering wheel, his car poised at the intersection of the parking lot. The bright lights danced and shimmered on the mist building up on the inside of the windshield. He cursed at the broken defroster as he used the arm of his sweater to wipe away the condensation. Rolling the window down, he looked out at the many people walking down the sidewalk. Some were in groups, others walked alone, but each one was a culmination of unique experiences, unique feelings. The climax of thousands of lives was taking place right before his eyes. So many people that he would never meet, but each passing stranger held the potential of sharing a small portion of his life with him. ‘So alone’ he moaned, feeling the burden of his thoughts weighing heavily against his skull.

He accelerated out of the parking lot to the protest of car horns and passed onto the left side of the road before veering sharply to the right. Out of his open window he saw the drug dealer step back from the curb as he drove by. After he passed the next intersection, he pressed his head up against the steering wheel, checked his mirrors quickly before doubling back to his apartment.

He slammed on his brakes and rolled down the window. The man on the curb glanced up, hesitated then moved forward to the open window.

“Waddya need man?”

Andrew swallowed hard before answering.