Category: short story, ny story

“Last Call”

March 6th, 2017

Lorenzo woke up with an excruciating headache. He was in the middle of a queen size bed, between a man, and a woman. Both are in their early thirties, seems like it. He blacked out again last night. There are four empty bottles of VEUVE CLICQUOT BRUT. He started to get dressed and slowly walked out of the bedroom. When he got out of the building, he realized that he’s in Upper East Side, on East 82nd Street and Madison Avenue. He then called an UBER cab to head back to the hostel in Harlem where he was living. But when he tried to get UBER, the app on his phone didn’t go through. He just remembered that he quit his job last week. After working for Goldman Sachs for almost four months, he had it. The fact was, he has to work side by side with a mentally challenged guy from Jamaica who was very verbally abusive. He endured working with that asshole for four long months. He woke up one day and decided not to return to work. He had already told his supervisor about it but due to state laws, the mentally challenged asshole is protected so human resources cannot fire him. Lorenzo was pissed, and felt trapped in a fucking circle. So he quit his job. He has little money left in his bank account. But he wasn’t worried. It’s one of the good things that he likes about himself. An ample amount of bravery and courage that only existed in black and white movies from the 1930’s.

So he decided to use the subway instead. As soon as he got home to the apartment hostel where he was staying,he went online and emailed as many resumes as possible. He’s been unemployed for almost three weeks now and god forbid, he might spiral down into deep depression. Lorenzo can blame and point his finger on root of all this. A month ago, he was seeing a girl named Gretta, a Swiss fashion designer, whom he met on a casual encounter, they dated for a little over a month. But then he fell madly with her and she told him that she’s not looking for anything long term. In a subtle way, she was literally telling him to fuck off. Their sex was good though, every time after they had sex, he would compliment her that “it’s better than porno”. The beginning of the year wasn’t exactly friendly to Lorenzo, it was full of deception, a relationship that he wanted which could never be sustained, a horrible day job that made him feel sick to his stomach every time he wakes up in the morning. After his break up with Gretta, he’s behavior became more fragile and most of the time cloaked in deep depression. He cannot feel anything, that’s what make depression different from sadness (sadness is a feeling, depression is an absence of feeling). Fortunately, he is smart enough to shake off or temporarily relieve his depression. He decided not to come home and went for a walk instead. He took the crosstown bus from Upper East Side and arrived on the West Side of Manhattan. On 23rd Street and Broadway, in the Flat Iron District. He walked from 23rd Street, all the way to 8th Street. While he was walking on Broadway, he remembers all the chapters of his life that have led to this one. Would it be possible that his break up was the reason that he spiraled down to his serious depression? He kept on walking, gazing at the passerby’s he saw on the streets; tourists,working people, homeless people, buskers, and the crazies. From that moment, he realized that he’s not that different from all of them. All he really was trying to do was to live. Sure his dreams and ambition flopped before his very eyes but he survived it. He’s still standing, he’s still alive. He finally reached 8th Street and Broadway, there’s a bar in there in which he frequented, THE GRASSROOTS TAVERN. Ever since his friends noticed that he fell into deep depression, most of them avoided him and stopped talking to him. That’s the beauty of having these so called friends here in New York City, they’ll hang out with you, party with you, get high with you, but when all the lights come crashing down, you won’t even see their shadows, he realized the difference of “friends” who only drink with you versus the friends who can actually come to your rescue. Lorenzo knows he’s alone and one the reasons that he hasn’t killed himself is because he realized that if he dies, no one will even notice. So he better stay alive and achieve his ambition of becoming a famous writer. But one of his major problems were, he feels like an abnormal piece of puzzle that never finds the right fit, whether it’s a relationship or work. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, but he keeps on marching on no matter what. As he walked in at the GRASSROOTS TAVERN, he was greeted by one of their friendly bartenders, Keith. Keith knew that Lorenzo has been unemployed for almost three weeks now. So he offered him the first pint of beer for free. So he started drinking and then some guy in his early 40’s came over to him. In a lot of ways, he looked like a Nazi skinhead. He smiled at Lorenzo in a malicious way and it made him fee uncomfortable. After a few more beers, Lorenzo finally initiated a conversation about literature and the guy declared himself to be yoga teacher. He also told Lorenzo that he could sense his vibe of depression and then, he invited him over to his place to smoke some crystal meth. Lorenzo immediately declined and started laughing so hard that the crystal meth-smoking yoga teacher eventually left. For Lorenzo, the whole thing was funny, he never met a yoga teacher who’s also a functional crystal meth user. After that, he had three or more beers, and stepped outside. As he got up from his seat, the bartender yelled: “Last Call!” . All the bar patrons started to leave, there were probably about six or seven people who were about to leave. When Lorenzo stepped outside, he noticed that he’s a little buzzed but not really piss drunk. He took out a cigarette and started to smoke a cigarette. Out of nowhere, he heard the voice of someone who’s dead and familiar at the same time. His deceased psychiatrist, Dr. Suzanne Lessing. She was wearing a grey pantsuit that accentuates her slender and feminine figure.

“Things will get better Lorenzo” Dr. Lessing blurted out.
“How the fuck would you know?! You’re dead for fuck’s sake!” He replied.
“This is just temporary, you will find something way better and someone so much better!”
“Oh cut the bullshit! Do you have any idea what I’m going through right now?!”
“Of course I do, you’re still alive and the pain that you go through is not easy. And I also know that all these piss and shit that you’re going through is just a phase. I mean, I’m sorry the relationship that you wanted never worked out, and that horrible job that made you feel sick to your stomach, I’m really sorry to hear about all of those things..”
“No need to cry over spilled milk, now I don’t even know what to do with my fucking life! And I feel very lost!”

Lorenzo’s eyes begin to get misty but he held himself together. Dr. Lessing looked at him with sympathy in her face. He put out his cigarette on the ground.

“I need to find a fucking job! I’ve been unemployed for three weeks now and I don’t know where to get my rent for next month. If a dead psychiatrist like you could make some kind of voodoo miracle, I would greatly appreciate it.”
“Times like these does not require magic, you need to let it organically unfold”
“Oh great, more pain and suffering for my fucking life!”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Then what the Hell are you talking about?!”
“This is your last call!”
“Last call? What does that even mean?”
“It means, that this is your last call to be optimistic about something.. Especially right now. After this phase, a life of fortune beyond your wildest dreams will follow.”
“Sounds too good to be true!”
“Just remember, it’s your last call! I have to go now.”
“Alright, maybe I’ll hire a witch doctor to bring you back to life will come true!”

Dr. Lessing walked away from Lorenzo like a human being, not like a typical ghost who would disappear. The following week, Lorenzo finally found a job. He secured a fulltime position working as a Mailroom Coordinator for a fashion house near Bryant Park in Midtown. Everyone around seemed nice and pleasant, he was actually surprised. His depression started to dissolve little by little. And he started writing again. He finally realized what Dr. Lessing meant by “Last Call”.
NYC 2017

February 15th, 2017

Where does someone start over or begin again? For Lorenzo Basque, all it took was a sweet publishing deal and a second book release that flopped again. He could’ve quit writing and started shooting heroin but he was too smart for it. He decided to move forward instead. He lost almost all the money in his bank account, was forced to move out of his apartment in the financial district and spent month to month on different rooms all over Brooklyn using AIRBNB website. Most of the rooms he rented were around Bushwick, Williamsburg, and Brooklyn Heights. He ended up taking a job doing data entry at the law division of Goldman Sachs in Lower Manhattan. The job is shit, repetitive, and dull. But it pays him twenty one dollars an hour. Good enough to afford him the rent, food, alcohol, and cigarettes in New York City.

It was New Year’s Eve and he decided to go to a party warehouse called THE PAPERBOX in Bushwick. Lorenzo went there alone since none of his so called friends showed up. The Albino German DJ with dreadlocks, started spinning tracks of psychedelic trance, it’s pretty much hard techno but with a hint of mushrooms and acid. He went inside the vibe immediately dove under his skin. A few people were high as a kite, when he came in. There was one guy wearing a Metallica shirt and jeans dancing around like there’s no tomorrow, then a girl dressed up like Cinderella with leather jacket dancing slow around the dance floor. She’s probably high on weed, not LSD or ecstasy. Lorenzo started walking around looking for drugs. He asked one guy with the white jacket and weird glasses if he knew where to score, then he approached a Hasidic guy, probably in his mid twenties, with the hat, and twirled hair on both sides of his head. Alas! He got lucky this time. He asked the kid.

“Do you know where to score?” Lorenzo asked.
“What do you want?” The Hasidic Kid replied.
“I’m looking for Molly!”
“I don’t have Molly, I only have LSD!

Lorenzo took the piece of LSD and put it under his tongue. The he asked the Hasidic Kid how much he owed him.

“How much is it?”
“Don’t worry bro, I got you! Happy New Year!!
“Thank you so much!!”

And just like that, he got high on New Year’s Eve for free. The psychedelic trance made the warehouse thumping all night. He saw the laser lights in an intensified level, he danced his way around the dance floor like a child with no adult worries. The party went on until 8:30 in the morning. But at around 6:30 in the morning, He walked over to the open bar and found his dead psychiatrist, Dr. Suzanne Lessing. He was still high on LSD when he saw sipping on a glass of champagne.

“Lorenzo!” Dr. Lessing yelled out.
“Dr. Lessing, what a fucking surprise! What are you doing here?” He blurted out.
“Just celebrating New Year’s Eve, and maybe a little bit of some good news and advice for you.”
“What good news?! Have you seen what happened to my fucking life recently?”
“Sure, you had a second shot and still failed it!”

Dr. Lessing then laughed her ass off.

“Okay, I know that! I don’t need you to insinuate my fucked up life, alright?”
“Oh honey, I wasn’t insinuating your existence. I was just saying that you’ve had a difficult life here in New York during the past four years. And I think you deserve a break from all of it.”
“You’re goddamn right I had a fuckin’ difficult life! Sometimes I even wonder if I should keep on surviving. Why the fuck am I still speaking to you? Are you even real?!”

She finally stopped laughing and looked straight at Lorenzo’s face.

“I am real until the LSD that you took wears off. But frankly, the important reason that I appeared in your hallucinations right now is because something good is coming your way!”
“Oh yeah? What is it another too-good-to-be-true publishing deal that will leave me broke all over again?
“No, absolutely not. You will meet someone who could possibly love you and you will never have to worry about losing a publishing deal or money ever again.”

Lorenzo laughed at her.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” He barked at her.
“Oh no, I only deliver honest and good news, for now at least!” She replied.
“Well that’s just great! Another fucked up year!”
“Lorenzo, I’m telling you an accurate prediction! Don’t shit all over it! You need to look forward to the 2017, embrace it, and most of all, be positive and optimistic as you can! Doubt has the same power as certainty! Do you understand?”

The all of a sudden, he heard he crowd yell “HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!!!” . He looked around the room and everybody was giving each other hugs, some were making out. He then looked back at the spot where Dr. Lessing was standing but she was no longer there. If there’s one thing Lorenzo learned from his dead psychiatrist who only appears to him when he’s high, he learned that life is like a dance, no matter what kind of music is playing, you must dance with it.
“The Survivalist”

August 11th, 2016

Here in New York City, the idea of survival comes in different shapes. But my most favorite one is the survival against loneliness. Here in Manhattan, you can shuffle your friends just like you shuffle your Spotify playlist. That’s how it simple it has become. It’s sad but it’s true. And the sooner you accept it, the easier it is to live in reality. Although reality seems to be the last dimension that I want to live in.

The other night, I found myself wandering again around East 14th Street and Third Avenue in East Village. I haven’t visited one of my/used to be all time favorite, The Belfry Bar, I’m supposed to meet up with a new friend whom I recently met named Murray, he’s a forty year old banker who just moved here from Australia. That night, I invited five or six more friends but nobody showed up. I had a shot of whiskey and an ice cold can of PBR and then left. As I was about to leave, Murray’s cab arrived in front of the bar and I was glad. We hit up the Red Lion Club on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village and jammed along to the live band who played alternative rock music from 1990’s. After that we went to Barcade, on West 24th Street, where we played 80’s video games while drinking beer. I got so drunk and felt senseless, so I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. I finished a cigarette and when I came back inside Murray was gone, I suspect, he was probably snorting cocaine in the bathroom, got paranoid and left. What a fuckhead. At the corner of the bar, I noticed a young couple eye fucking me while smirking. Both of them were good looking, in their mid-thirties, I guess their Hollywood look made them attractive to me considering I used to live in Los Angeles. The woman looked like the blonde version of Audrey Hepburn while the man echoes the physical appearance of Marlon Brando. Fuck, I will have a threesome with them, why the fuck not?! I shamelessly introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Lorenzo! Have I met you two before?” I pretended to ask.
“No, not really but you will.” Audrey Hepburn replied with a smile in her face.
“Yeah, you will perhaps tonight.” Marlon Brando said right after Audrey.

I forgot to ask what their names are and when I asked them about it, they declined to say it by responding, “What difference does it make?”. I guess they have a point. A threesome with them is just sex, no strings attached, it doesn’t mean anything. I should know because I used to do the same thing. The three of us had shots of tequila and then called a cab to head to their place. While in the cab, the three of us were unusually quiet. I guess we’re all trying to ask ourselves, how the fuck did we end up from playing video games to ending the night with a threesome?! While inside the cab, for some weird reason, I kept thinking and reflecting about my fucking life. All the struggles that I had; working on real shitty jobs making minimum wage, how I was almost homeless since I didn’t have enough money to pay for rent, so I scheduled different couches of friends and sometimes complete strangers who were kind enough to offer a place to sleep at night, and then to the most important struggle that I ever had, falling in love for the first time and almost losing my fucking mind. And currently, I’m a soon-to-be published novelist armed with an literary agent, a lawyer, and a publicist, and my very own apartment in Lower Manhattan. All these things happened to me here in New York City. And of course, the countless rendezvous I’ve had with beautiful strangers and foreigners. I can’t imagine any other place where all these roller coaster experiences could happen and in a way, I’m glad. When the cab finally arrived in front of their apartment building, Marlon Brando and Audrey Hepburn immediately got out of the cab and both looked at me and waited. I also got out.

“This is us, I’m gonna prepare a nice glass of Manhattan for both of you.” She said.
“Yeah, I think I’m gonna have to pass..”
“What?!” Marlon Brando asked, looking disappointed.
“I’m sorry but this doesn’t feel right, anymore. I have to go!” I said.

I walked away from both of them. Not that I don’t want to have a threeway but it wasn’t my first time doing it with a couple. I think I’ve had my share of one night fucks, threesomes, foursomes, or whatever it is you call it these days. It’s not like I’m tired of the habits, I just need a little break I think, I want to spend some time away from this kind of pattern. I finally called a cab and headed straight home. Call me a pussy, but there’s a time for everything!

TO BE CONTINUED….
“The New York Life”

June 6th, 2016

I found myself aimlessly wandering in the Lower East Side, near Rivington Street and Bowery. I think I just finished drinking beer and doing jaeger shots at Loreley, my favorite German spot here in Manhattan. Earlier during that day, I was going through a series of fortunate events I must say. My talent agent at ICM Partners, found me a publisher who wants to publish my new novel and next week I’m scheduled to receive a hefty cash advance of $300,000 for the book alone. But I since I was still fucking broke after the meeting, I asked my agent if I could get some money to live off on, and also so that I could quit my demeaning file clerk job at the law firm in midtown where I was making $12 an hour. That’s probably one of the worst day jobs that I ever had, I had to work with stagnant people who’ve been there for than a decade doing the same shit year after year. My agent, Cassandra, but I call her Cassie, agreed. She asked payroll to write me a check for $5000 and I cashed it right away at Citibank. I was so happy, for the first time in two years, I’m back in the saddle of good fortune. Life was finally starting to be nice to me. But to tell you the truth, I’m a bit cynical. Because no matter how successful you are in this fucking life, there’s always a possibility that you could lose everything in a blink of an eye. But I don’t want to dwell on that. I want to cherish and enjoy this New York life that I have for as long as I can. I started drinking at the Peculier Pub on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village, then to the Red Lion Club next door where they have a live band that played 90’s alternative rock. I enjoyed myself a little bit. I’ve thought of calling some of my so-called friends but honestly speaking, I think I’m starting to enjoy my own company and that’s important. After I finished my screwdriver, I went to Indochino Men’s suit outlet in Soho, and bought myself with couple of brand new tailored suits. Luckily, they had the exact size for a skinny guy like me, I bought one grey suit and one black one, all are three piece. I decided to wear the grey suit and I gotta tell you that it felt like a million bucks. Then after that I went straight to Loreley, had myself a sauerbraten and one masskrug of wiehenstephaner beer.

While finishing my beer at Loreley, and enjoying my newfound success in the unforgiving and rewarding city of New York, I remembered how much I’ve suffered during the past six years of me living here. I remember being homeless and living on different couches of friends, and sometimes strangers that I randomly met at bars. I remember hanging out with my well-to-do friends and art openings just to get free food. Being broke here in New York is a pain in the ass, but somehow I’ve survived it. One of my friends called me a hustler because of my survival skills. In desperate times, I’m always a quick thinker. It’s not a skill, it’s a principle. All at the same time, I’m also surprised that I was able to preserve and accomplish my dreams after all these years. I’ve witnessed a lot of friends give up on their dreams in order to have a more realistic life, and it was the most depressing newsflash that I have to hear. But then again, I have the same dream since I was a child, to have a universe of my own and rule it. I guess being a writer with an agent and some money gets me closer to it. With a publishing deal and a slated autumn release of my novel, I realized that the struggles of the past is behind me now. And I’m thankful. I also managed to afford my very own studio apartment in the Financial District, the rent costs about $2,745. The apartment itself is already furnished and included a housekeeping service from the building. I would say that at this very moment, this present life is a far cry from the past.

As I continued my walk in Lower East Side, I eventually got tired and hailed a cab around Delancey Street and headed to East Village. I got off on 2nd Avenue and 12th Street. I went to the 12th Street Ale House bar and ordered a glass of Carlsberg. As I was about to finish my third glass of Carlsberg, I noticed the symptoms of a blackout, So I asked the bartender to give me a glass water so that I could catch a cab and go home. I was staying at a hostel style apartment near Columbia University. While I was about to finish my glass of water, I saw a young woman dressed in beige, I could hear her speaking in Portuguese. She’s either from Brazil or Portugal. She’s about twenty two or twenty three. It’s funny, because at my age of thirty one, I still look like I senior high school kid. I don’t know why really. I always attract college kids or someone younger than me. I never dated or hooked up with anyone who’s the same age as I am. Sometimes I feel like Peter Pan, everyone else around me has changed but I stayed the same. So I made the first move like a shameless bastard and sat next to her. Her friends were outside the bar smoking cigarettes.

“Hi there!” I said.
“Hello!” She replied.
“Having a good night?” I asked.
“Yes, my friends are outside smoking and it’s too bad that I don’t..” She replied.
“You know, there are other things aside from smoking that you could do..”
“Oh really?”
“Like what?”
“You will find out, eventually. Where’s your accent coming from?”
“Oh, my accent? From Brazil.”
“Very nice, I must say that Brazilians are good at bed.”

She laughed in an impressive manner.

“I meant that as a compliment.”
“I know you did.”

Then she looked at me with a look that only a stripper would give if she wants to fuck the client that she’s giving a lap dance with.

“My name’s Lorenzo.”
“I’m Gisele.”
“Gisele Bundchen?”

She laughed again.

“No, Gisele Bauth.”

Then after that, our sexual chemistry went in full blast and we started making out. I then led her to the spacious bathroom of the bar where we fucked passionately. I walked out of that bathroom with pride in my pants. Gisele was still inside retouching her make up. Before I left, I asked her if we could link up on Facebook or Instagram.

“Sorry, I don’t do dating.”
“Okay, well nice to meet you!”

I then walked out of the bathroom with a feeling of rejection. How could a beautiful girl let me fuck her but doesn’t want any strings attached?! She made me feel like shit. At that moment, I realized there’s no point in holding on to an emotional attachment that isn’t returned. So I went outside to have a cigarette. As I was about to stand at the corner, I found my dead psychiatrist, Suzanne. She’s wearing a crisp, white long sleeved shirt, with a pearl necklace and a grey skirt down to her knees.

“Congratulations! You found your fortune again.” She said.
“What fortune?” I asked.
“The publishing deal, a new novel coming out, and of course a ton of money about to come your way! You should be happy and thankful.”
“I am thankful!”
“Oh come on Lorenzo, you have the lucky cards dancing in front of you right now, don’t shit all over it!”
“What are you talking about? I’m not shitting on my fortune!”
“Then why are so sad?!”
“Because I’m unable to control everything!”

Suzanne sighed and looked at me with sympathy.

“You cannot have everything, you know that.”
“What do you mean by that? Are you telling me that I will never find true happiness?!”
“You already found your happiness. And now, it’s just a question of finding someone.”
“That’s a really comforting advice coming from a dead psychiatrist like you.”
“I don’t want to lie to you kiddo, but try to be content of what you have. Now that you have this renewed success on your shoulders, everyone out there will always want something from you. Just be careful. And try not to blow off all your money on booze and drugs.”
“I have a question for you..”
“Yes?”
“How come you never appear to me when I’m sober?”
“That’s because there’s no point. When you’re drunk or high, it’s way easier for me to give you a dose of some reality.”

I saw siren pass by on 2nd Avenue, I then looked back at the corner and Suzanne was gone. My dead psychiatrist disappeared. But all those things she said to me didn’t. Is it true? That you really cannot have everything? It’s kind of fucked up. When you’re rich, it’s hard to find true love. But when you’re in love, it’s okay to be broke. It’s a fucked up world indeed.

TO BE CONTINUED…
“Brain Damage”

April 24th, 2016

Here’s another blackout story. Where the fuck do I begin? The most important question is, how much do I fucking remember?

It was a nice Saturday evening. I went to see my French DJ friend from Paris, Aurelie. She was spinning tables at Output in Brooklyn. I went there to see her and also the fact that it was her last night here in New York City. She needs to go back to her own reality in France. This is what I love about New York, I continue to establish friendships with people from around the world. After she finished playing, we went to another little neighborhood of Bushwick, also in Brooklyn. We revisited our favorite spot, Happy Fun Hideaway. It’s more of like a pansexual bar where anything goes. Whether your straight, gay, bisexual or undeclared, there will be always be someone for everyone. I suppose I can say that from experience. LMFAO!!

So the minute we arrived at the Happy Fun Hideaway, we immediately did our tequila shots, whiskey shots, cans of PBR, glasses of whiskey and ginger. And after noticing that I was liquored up, I invited Aurelie’s boyfriend, Damien outside to smoke cigarettes. Since Aurelie is like an adopted sister to me, I made some pretty defensive/overprotective remarks.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked Damien.
“Sure” He replied.
“Are you in love right now?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good! You see Aurelie is like my sister, I’ve seen her hurt by someone before and I don’t ever want to see her hurt again.”
“To hurt her is the last thing that I want to do.”
“Very good, I hope so!”

Damien decided to return inside while I stayed in the patio finishing my cigarette. While I was smoking, I noticed an odd couple staring at me from the corner, a lesbian girl who looks like Kristin Stewart and gay guy that looks like Ronan Keating. I put out my cigarette and approached them.

“For some reason, you two remind me of a rendezvous!” I exclaimed.

They both grinned.

“Really?” Kristin Stewart asked me.
“Yeah, it’s a compliment by the way.”
“So where did you meet this similar couple that you had a rendezvous with?” Ronan Keating asked me.
“Oh I think it was at a Russian Bar somewhere in East Village.” I replied.
“Was it any good?” Kristin Stewart asked me.
“Yeah, it wasn’t bad. I had five orgasms in a row. It was amazing!”

They both looked at each other and smiled. Like a couple of sexual freaks planning a tasteful menage-a-trois. Then suddenly, Damien came out and called me.

“Lorenzo! Aurelie wants to see you!” Damien yelled.
“I will be there in a minute!” I responded.

I never got the chance to get their names but that could’ve been a meaningful threesome. I kissed them both in the lips before I went inside and my self-esteem was skyhigh! I came back inside the bar and joined back Aurelie and Damien. The three of us did more shots and drank screw drivers, since Aurelie has a flight back to France the next day, they needed to leave. So I had another round of shots with them, this time it’s vodka, then I was all by myself at that bar. That was my last memory. The next day, I woke up in someone’s apartment a few blocks away from the bar. I don’t remember shit of what happened. But I like the sight of the person I woke next to, a naked girl, about age twenty four, with long blonde wavy hair. She woke up too. She looked like Tara fucking Reid. The worst part is, I don’t remember meeting her, I don’t remember getting into her apartment. Fuck! I had brain damage AKA blackout!

“Good morning cutie!” She said
“Hi! Please don’t hate me but I don’t remember anything, not even your name…” I replied.
“That’s okay, my name is Cassie and your name is Lorenzo. You approached me at the bar and recited some of the poetry that you wrote and you’re also a novelist trying to find an agent.”
“I’m sorry again Cassie, I don’t mean to be a dick. I don’t usually blackout but last night felt like I had brain damage.”
“Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. I like your poetry, not too many guys write it these days..”
“Thanks! I better go.”
“Oh relax, stay up for a little bit and then we’ll talk about your finished novel.”
“My finished novel?”
“Yeah, you emailed it to me last night after you pitched it. Oh I’m sorry I forgot you had a brain damage and can’t remember anything!”
“Oh god, I’m sorry..”
“Stop being sorry! Did it ever occur to you why you emailed me your manuscript in the first place?”
“Umm, I’m trying to get into your pants?”
“I’m an agent assistant at ICM Partners, a talent agency that represents…”
“Yes, I know ICM Partners, I used to live in L.A. and I pitched a screenplay to them but they turned it down.”
“Don’t worry, I like the premise your novel. If I put my faith and believe in it, it could also cement my career as a full blown talent agent.”
“Do you believe in my work?”
“I wouldn’t bring it up if I think that it’s shit, does it make any sense?”
“Yes, it makes perfect sense. I’m just amused by myself that I don’t remember pitching it.”
“Well, I believe in it. If your book gets published, it could also open doors for film studios in Hollywood to buy the film rights and turn it into a movie. So it will benefit both of us.”
“That sounds very good! I’m actually happy to hear that but I don’t know how to express it!”
“You can give me a quickie before you leave..”
“Of course I will!”

So I gave her the quickie (by going down on her), and she enjoyed it. We exchanged numbers and then I left her apartment. I was still bewildered that I managed to pitch my book to someone despite the fact that I was piss drunk. But at the same time, I was also impressed by myself. The following week Cassie secured me a meeting at the ICM Partners office on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. They love the premise of my the novel that I pitched to Cassie – about the teenage son of a priest and a prostitute who ran away from home and living vicariously in Berlin. I also secured myself an agent, and that was none other than Cassie. Now the next step, is to publish the novel itself. They’re hitting up their contacts here in New York and also in Los Angeles, and Cassie advised me to stay still because my success is in the pipeline. That alone re-established my belief and faith in myself. Because for some reason, I’ve been hating myself for quite some time and lost every fragment of belief or faith. But this time, all that changed. I no longer feel like a fucking failure. Maybe my drunken behavior and “brain damage” incident was a blessing in disguise. I never expected it. One thing’s pretty clear, I’m headed for another major change. After all, my life has always been eventful. I told myself the same thing that I would tell my younger self if I could travel back in time, “Fasten your seat belt and enjoy the ride!”. Because I refuse to change anything in the past and have absolutely no regrets!
“Girl On The Subway”

February 15th, 2016

I think it was early Sunday morning. I was on the N train coming from Soho. Another loft party that I survived. Well this one is, more of like a rave actually. A friend of a friend who’s a DJ from Munich is in town, so that friend turned his spacious loft into a fucking rave house. It was fun. I tripped on LSD like a baby boomer from Woodstock. Everywhere I looked, while I danced with everyone, I saw supermodels, beautiful creatures, blessed with stunning and extremely attractive looks, they look so good that they don’t have to do anything. Well, maybe pose and maintain themselves, but other than that, everything, everyone is coming for them. I got so high that I left the party without my hat, scarf, and sweater. Other than that, I had a great time.

As I hopped inside the train, I saw a young woman, dressed in black fur coat staring down. She looked lost. I would say she’s probably in her early twenties. Her appearance reminded me of someone that I used to know. Long dark silky hair, porcelain skin, deep green eyes, she was wearing a blood red lipstick. The rest of the make up on her face was faded, but she was still beautiful. I observed her face and sensed her sadness. A punctured sadness deep within her. I guess, being a depressed person like myself, I could easily notice sadness itself in any place at any time. The more I stare at her, The more her eyes became misty, and eventually tears started streaming down her pretty face. I couldn’t stand to just sit there and be still, it was too painful for me to watch her like that. I looked at everybody on the train and everybody behaved as if they don’t see her. I stood up from my seat and sat next to her but she stood up on the next stop on 34th Street. I followed her, tears are still streaming down her face. I touch the back of her shoulder and she looked back at me.

“Excuse me Miss, are you okay? I asked.

She stared at me with a slight relief and then embraced me and continued to cry. I embraced her back as if I knew her. But at that point, the only thing I truly knew about her was her suffering in silence. After she embraced me, I held her hand and walked her to a nearby coffee shop in Herald Square. Her name was Olivia.

“I’m sorry,” She said.
“About what?” I asked.
“For crying on your shoulders, I’m not like this all the time”
“It’s okay, I know.”
“I never got your name.”
“It’s Lorenzo.”
“Have I told you my name?”
“Yes, you did. So what made you cry on the subway?”

She sipped on her cup of tea before she answered my question.

“I was about to get married and the man I love walked out on me with no explanation. He left me waiting for him in front of the altar. He never arrived, then I got a text from him telling me that he can’t do it and doesn’t want to be something that he’s not. Then he was gone. I loved him so much, he was the love of my life. And I’m such a wreck, we’ve been together for four years and he just left me.”

“I’m so sorry, that’s very fucked up.”
“I know, he was a fucking asshole. I know I’m stronger than this but it’s impossible not to feel anything.”
“We’re all humans.”
“Everyday, I try to ignore my misery but then the more I do it, the more I fall to pieces.”
“You cannot ignore it, but at some point it becomes bearable.”
“It doesn’t go away?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“What about you? Have you ever loved someone that it almost fucked you up?”
“Yes. I was in love once.”
“Really? What was her name?”
“Hanna, but she’s not from here. She’s from Munich.”
“Did she love you?”
“No, that was the big difference. I told her how I felt about her but she didn’t feel the same. She played with my head a lot.”
“What a bitch!”

I laughed at Olivia after she called Hanna a bitch.

“It was the most destructive chapter of my life and also my happiest. I was happy.”
“What about now? Are you okay?”
“I think so. I got over it after five years.”
“Oh wow, that’s a long time.”
“Yeah, but I think I’m still mending”
“I hope it doesn’t take me five years to recover. I could barely save myself right now.”
“You’re stronger than you think. It takes a spine to be human here in New York.”

After we finished our coffee, Olivia and I embraced again, exchanged numbers, and parted ways. Olivia gave me her sincere thanks before leaving on cab. I decided to go for a walk so I went back downtown to Lower East Side and eventually ended up at Loreley, a German beer garden on Rivington Street. Meeting Olivia reminded me that I wasn’t the only one having a fucked up experience. That a broken person can actually heal. I met someone at the beer garden who offered me a spliff wrapped in a filtered cigarette paper. As I started smoking, my late psychologist, Suzanne Lessing, appeared out of nowhere, smiling at me. She was wearing a brown leather coat, her blonde hair coiffed as always, and a red scarf.

“Meeting other fucked up people like yourself helps does it?” She asked.
“Where the fuck have you been all this time?” I asked.
“Oh I was in vacation in Scandinavia. Beautiful region, I visited Stockholm, Copenhagen, Oslo, and Helsinki.”
“Since when did dead psychologists take vacations? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”
“Well I am, except, I have to ensure that you don’t fuck everything in your life right now. I mean, I do feel guilty for leaving you behind after I committed suicide.”
“That’s nice of you, I’m not so bad.”
“I know you have this tendency to be compassionate to strangers but be careful.”
“Why?”
“Too much compassion isn’t good. There’s nothing wrong with it, but keep it to certain degree.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“As long as it doesn’t involve the future.”
“Okay, I get it you’re not Nostradamus. But could you at least give me hint on something?”

Suzanne sighed and crossed her arms.

“Fine, I’ll try. What do you want to know?”

A million questions were racing through my mind before I could ask her.

“What will become of me in the end?”

She looked at me with dismay and worry in her face, I know there’s bad news around the corner of my fucking life. I continued to smoke the spliff.

“Lorenzo, you know I cannot be transparent with you about these things.”
“You don’t need to tell me what’s excatly gonna happen, I just need a clue to keep on living.”
“You need to finish writing that novel of yours. You can have that life of luxury that you’ve always wanted.”
“Will I finally become rich and famous?”
“Possibly. But remember one thing, happiness isn’t something that you can create. It’s not guaranteed once you get that bucket of money. Please never forget that.”
“I won’t.”

I put out the spliff on the ground with my foot and when I looked up she was gone. It’s a funny feeling when dead people appear to you while under the influence. I went back home and opened my laptop and started writing. I have no idea what’s the genre of the novel that I’ve been trying to write all this time. But Suzanne’s advice gave me some kind of hope. It feels good when someone believes in you even though that person is already dead. God help me. The more I think of her faith in me, the more I filled the empty pages with words of fiction.
“Gotham Confusion”

February 8th, 2016

People come to New York in pursuit of dreams, ambition, or sometimes, just to have a taste of an exciting life in a city of 8 million souls. Everyone talks about how exciting this city is, that there’s no place like it. But nobody really talks about when someone is tired of it. Maybe I used the wrong word. Saying that someone is tired would be an understatement. Before I go any further, let me make one thing clear, I do not hate New York. I used to love this place, with passion. But for some reason, I’m not really sure what happened.. I think I’m starting to lose my desire to live here. When it comes to ambition, I still have the drive to make it happen as a fucking writer. In terms of places to move, I was thinking of Berlin, Stockholm, or Copenhagen. Anywhere that’s dark and cold, is where my heart it.

But recently, I’ve been partying like a rockstar from Woodstock during the 60’s. I went out to Alphabet City at some bar that I don’t even remember the name of, then ran into some guy named Mike from California. He happens to be from the same district in L.A. where I was living, in Hollywood. He invited back to his apartment on East 5th street and 2nd Avenue to do some coke and smoke weed. We then proceeded to SOLAS BAR where they have a live DJ on the backroom that spinned EDM tracks. I enjoyed myself a little bit, dancing by myself, conversing with random strangers. It was fun. At around 3 AM, I decided to go home. While I was on the subway, I was thinking to myself, where the fuck did it all go? My writing has gone stale, and I have no fucking clue on what to do with my fucking life anymore. Maybe try out a new dream? Or maybe what I really need right now is to reinvent my New York City dream. When a dreamer comes to New York, the city itself is a major factor on whatever it is that you want to do.

The next day, a series of cluster fucks started happening. My psychologist recently dropped me because she decided to stop working after 6 PM on weeknights, that’s bad news for me since I will no longer have a professional listener to analyze my fucked up life. After that, I recently heard a rumor going around the office that the law firm where I work as a records clerk is about to do some massive lay offs and they’re gonna start with entry level jobs which includes my position. So I started looking for new office work, I emailed resumes, mostly to hedge funds here in Manhattan. But a part of me is still paranoid. The fact that my dreams are like a sinking fleet. I needed to reinvent my ambition immediately. I need to find something new. I went to the Lincoln Center in Upper West Side and sat by the fountain. I reflected to myself about my next big move. I’ve thought of returning to the performing arts arena and get back to writing plays. But that didn’t sound good because I have already tried for about four years. Then something came to me, an image of Charlie Chaplin hanging to the hands of giant clock from one of his silent films. He wasn’t just an actor, he’s a performance artist. I figured that it’s so much easier to sell your work when it’s visual rather than cerebral like writing. That very moment, my phone rang, it was a recruiter from Goldman Sachs calling about a position I applied for last week. So I did set up an interview with them for next week and then felt this rush about a new beginning, that includes a new endeavor along the way. New York life is fucking ironic, just when you thought this bright eyed city is spitting you out, new things start happening and assures you to stay.
“Restart”

December 20th, 2015

I don’t know where to start in telling this fucking short story. The past several weeks has been critical. The dead end office job that I have at the law firm feels more mediocre day after day. I’ve been all over the place lately. Like, literally all over the fucking place. I haven’t written any fiction or poetry for weeks. Last Friday night, I found myself snorting lines of cocaine on top of a glass table in Alphabet City in Lower Manhattan while dancing with some twenty one year old girl to the songs of Iron Butterfly’s “IN-A-GADDA-DA-VIDA”.

The next day, I woke up in someone’s strange apartment in Bushwick, Brooklyn. I was alone on the bed, I don’t think that I had sex with someone from the previous night since I woke up alone in someone’s bed. I went to the living room and I saw four or five people, all asleep wearing nothing but their under wears. There are empty bottles of whiskey and beer on the table, and some residues of cocaine. I know for a fact that I did probably three lines that night. For a split second, I was wondering, what the fuck was I doing in there. Most of these fucking hipsters are like twenty one year olds. It’s always been my fucking curse, I always attract the young and the naïve. What the fuck is wrong with me?! I came in late to work the following Monday. As usual, it was dull and depressing. Most of my co-workers there at the law firm, have been working in that shit hole for almost twenty fucking years. I never understood people who have no ambition in life. Call me arrogant or cocky but I really don’t give a fuck. Ambition is necessary to every human being just like food and water. Right after work, I went straight to my favorite bar on Saint Mark’s place called the GRASSROOTS TAVERN, and ordered a neat glass of MAKER’S MARK. After a couple of glasses of my favorite bourbon, an idea came up to me. After weeks of this painful writer’s block, I was finally able to write again. I guess one’s writing ability is kind of like an engine. You have to shut it off once in a while in order for it to start working again. An image of a young, pretty woman came appeared in my mind, she looked familiar. She is smart, porcelain skin, brown, lush hair, brown eyes. It was the younger version of my mother. My mother never talked about her relationship with my stupid father. Since she never mentioned shit to me about my goddamn conception, I said fuck it! I will write a fictional story of their relationship, if they ever had one. Now this is the beginning of a future New York Times Bestseller! Who the fuck knows. As long as I feel this passion to write about this, then there’s nothing for me to worry about. I wrote down ten pages like I was high on cocaine. Then after hat, I had the urge to crash someone’s house party. I went to the KEY BAR in East Village and ran into a lesbian couple named Elsa and Yana who recently fled Ukraine and was so glad that they’re able to move here in New York City and could finally live together as a married couple. They dragged me to a house party on East 14th Street and 3rd Avenue. By the time we got to the party, some people there were already high as fuck. There’s a song by CALVIN HARRIS, “How Deep is your Love” blasting from the Bose speaker. Yana tugged my arm to a nearby room where people inside are passing around a hybrid joint, I took a hit, and it was a good high. Then someone came out of the bathroom holding a glass plate with lines of coke on it. After doing two lines of blow, I felt like I just turned twenty fucking one. Like a Hollywood child star who celebrates his career because he survived it all. I decided to get out of that room, the music of CALVIN HARRIS was still playing in the background. I was so fucking high, I could crawl up to the fucking ceiling. On the hallway, outside the bedroom, there’s some guy wearing a suit who looks like Christian Bale from the movie American Psycho, he asked me if I was okay, I said I’m fine. Then he grabbed my arm and kissed me full in the lips. That kiss felt mediocre so I moved away from him and tried to find my lesbian friends, Yana and Elsa. I looked in the kitchen and the living room, they were nowhere to be found. Then on my way out, a young girl who looks like an NYU student was standing by herself, with tears in her eyes. I felt sympathy for her right away, whatever she was going through. I came closer and reached down my pocket to see if I have any clean napkin, I didn’t. I wiped the tears in her eyes with my palms, she looked at me in a familiar way like she wanted me to take her home. I kissed her and she kissed me back, we made out for about five minutes like a couple of teenagers. But then I realized that what she needs right now to save herself from destruction, not a one night fuck.

“I’m Alyssa, I will let you take me home tonight if that’s okay..” She said.
“I’m Lorenzo”. I replied.
“Well, aren’t you gonna take me home?”
“I would if I knew the way..” I responded.

I kissed her again and left. Because I know for a fact that whatever I did with anyone in that party, it’s just in the spur of the moment, kind of like a magic show that you see in carnivals, it’s not real but it looks and feels good.

I went to a diner near Bond Street in Soho. I ordered a cup of coffee and started writing on my moleskin notebook. I realized that after all these years, what I was looking for was something or someone that I could rely on on a long term basis. This may sound fucking corny but it’s my fucking reality. I can’t lie to myself, and if I do, no one will suffer but me.