Sex, Drugs, & NYC by Vince Goodman
I found myself
In your eyes
For a few seconds
I took comfort
In the illusion
Of what could have been
A fucking sweet memory
But towards the end
It was you
Who led me on
Your lying heart
Was my sanctuary, my refuge
I believed every element
Of your emotion
Followed it like a lost puppy
All the way to fucking Brewster
I enjoyed every psychedelic moment
Every narco that we both consumed
But I still want to thank you
For reminding me
That my heart or whatever’s left of it
Needs a stronger cage
Out of the crowd
You picked me out
Treated me like a confection
From a candy store
Your beach blonde hair
Made me feel closer to home
And your grey eyes
Pierced and hunted
My every fantasy, my every sensaton
Go fast, go slow
Until we both climax
As you touch me
I’ll pretend that
I’m being loved by you
Even just for a kodak moment
Your gaze reminded me
Of someone I used to know
Like a pool of familiarity
Where I wanna swim
Your grey eyes
Made me a timewalker
When innocence itself
Was my favorite perfume
In the midst of a menage-a-trois
Your grey eyes
Made me feel like
I’m desired again
Go slow, go fast
Until we reach nirvana
Our bodies flowing into
Each other like water
I looked back into
Your grey eyes
And you’ve seen me
In a place where
Where no one is supposed to see
I wanna be
Your beautiful lie
Break my heart
And I’ll fix it forever
I wanna be
Your favorite high
Let’s take a trip
And pretend we’re strangers
I wanna be
Your lover in line
I’ll bring you back to life
When she says it’s over
I’ll always want you
With zero regrets
I pushed your limits
And now you’re gone
I wanna be
Your favorite mistake
Take me right now
And then lose me
I wanna be
Your San Junipero
We’ll spend eternity
In 1987
I’m sorry I feel this way
And I know that it’s wrong
To want you more than I should
But fuck that
The attraction
Made me feel higher than cocaine
And a trace of some happiness
Came along with it
Only after Dark
Is when I can see you
This emotional dysfunction
Is too good to be true
That is why
It has to end just like seasons do
I don’t want an another hit and run
I’m sorry I love you
The beginning of 2017 hasn’t been nice to me at all. It was a non-stop shit show! Suddenly I found myself waking up in a hospital bed. I was also wearing a hospital gown, I looked at both of my wrists and they’ve been wrapped in bandages, I tried to open it but a nurse came in and stopped me.
“Stop doing that.” She said.
“Where the fuck am I?” I asked.
“You’re in Mount Sinai Beth Israel in New York. Do you know your name?”
“Of course I know my fucking name! It’s Lorenzo you stupid bitch!”
“Okay, no need for profanities Lorenzo..”
“Shit, I’m sorry. Could you just tell me what the fuck happened?”
The nurse was a little hesitant to tell me of what happened but somehow she told the story.
“You’ve been unconscious for the past 48 hours. Someone found you passed out on Bowery Street and Second Avenue and called 911. You’re here due to some drug overdose and excessive alcohol consumption. Do you remember anything at all?”
I almost sobered up after she told me all those things. I also tried very hard to remember any previous recollections that I have if I could remember any. I was at a house party in East Village. I wasn’t so sure who’s party it was but one thing for sure, I was drinking whiskey and vodka like a rockstar, then someone offered me some LSD, then I did some lines of cocaine with someone, then some Jewish kid offered me a tab of ecstasy.. I also remembered that I was in my lowest low that night. I couldn’t find a day job, late on my rent, literally living on a hand to mouth situation and wasn’t able to do any sort of writing. I also remembered that the first seven months of 2017 had been unkind to me – a failed romantic relationship, a diagnosis of clinical depression, PTSD, and it went on like a fucking daytime soap opera series on CBS. Then I asked myself, what did I do? The same question that I asked myself when I was five, during the time I realized that my mother neglected me and my father abandoned me. The same fucking question I asked for the past thirty three years. But I cannot dwell on these kind of thoughts. I need to keep on moving forward. After all, it’s only me against the world since the dawn of my existence.
“Lorenzo?” The nurse asked me.
I immediately checked out of that weird mind loop and came back to reality.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Do you remember anything at all?”
“I do. I was at a house party in East Village. I was drinking more liquor like water, and eating every drug like it’s candy.”
“I’m gonna get the doctor to inform him that you’re awake and he’ll do some final test on you.”
“Okay, and I’m sorry by the way.I didn’t mean to call you a bitch.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m gonna get the Doctor..”
She politely left with a slight smile in her face. I really don’t want to wait for the doctor to tell me that I almost killed myself and I need to start taking care of myself. I don’t need to hear any of that shit. I mean, I’m aware of what I’m drinking and the drugs that I’m get high at, and I don’t need some mediocre doctor to tell me how I should live. All I know is, I’ve survived an alcohol and drug overdose, and I came back to life. Have I learned my lesson? Of course I have, to a certain degree. I didn’t want to wait for someone who get’s paid six figures and tells his/her patients how much longer they could live, so I decided to pull out the IV from my arm and put my regular clothes on. I snuck out of the hospital and wiped the blood off my arm. I went to a friend’s apartment in Elmhurst,Queens to take a shower and get cleaned up. Then I started wandering around Soho and Tribeca, thinking about my fucking life. Thinking if it will ever change.. Then I got a phone call on my phone. About a job that I applied for almost a month ago, for a start up company providing baby sitting services for dogs. That’s fucking ironic, because it seems like pets get better treatments than humans these days. They offered me the entry level position; where I’ll answer phones and email for a mere $16 an hour. It’s a shit wage, but it will sustain me in terms of rent and food. Pretty much a job for survival. An essential mediocre job I suppose. I accepted the job offer and was due to start the following Monday. I was surprised actually, since I don’t remember doing the interview with them. I wasn’t sober during the interview for sure. I was probably high on Adderall. But it doesn’t matter, I got the day job and that’s a good thing. There is something good to feel about and I try not to shit all over it. But after seven consecutive months of adversity in my fucking universe, I get cynical and believe me I’m trying to get rid of this kind of attitude.
The following night, I ended up at some bar that I never frequent. At GMT Tavern in Greenwich Village. The drink prices are pretty steep but I liked the ambiance of the bar and EDM playlist that they have. I ordered a glass of old fashioned and the cocktail itself did live up to its price. While finishing my drink, I met a French tourist named Jeremie, he’s a student at NYU pursuing his Phd in International Trading. His English is pretty damn good for a Frenchie, he told me later on that he went to a boarding school in England, which explains the crisp British accent. He then invited me to snort some cocaine with him in the bathroom, we finished the whole packet of his coke. It was a grand high, not cheap high like the coke that you buy from East Village or Lower East Side. He also told me that he smuggled it from Colombia. I guess it was my lucky night! LOL! I went back to the bar to have another glass of old fashioned. When I tried to look for Jeremie, he’s nowhere to be found. It’s either he met someone that night and or he ghosted. Anyway, I decided to have one last drink since my cocaine high seems unassailable for the next eight hours… After I finished my second glass of old fashioned, I thought I won’t be coked up anymore. But the truth is, it only made me feel higher. I decided to leave the bar and went to Washington Square Park. I sat on the bench while smoking a cigarette. Then suddenly, I heard a familiar voice.
“Can I bum a cigarette?” She asked.
I looked around me and there she was, my dead psychiatrist who’s the doppelganger of Sharon Stone, my absentee bestfriend who only appears when I’m high.
“If you’re still alive, I’d give you one!” I replied.
She then laughed at me like a fucking hyena.
“I like the fact that you haven’t lost your sarcasm.”
“What the fuck do you want this time?”
“What is it the you want?”
“It would be a lot better if I got a billion dollars in cash, I could use a sabbatical around the world!”
“That would be nice isn’t it?”
“You’re goddamn right it would!”
“I wish I could help you out on that, but I simply can’t”
“Then why the fuck do you keep showing up when I’m high?!”
“Me showing up to you when I’m high isn’t really my choice. It’s fate.”
“Oh bullshit! My life is slightly changing and you’re not even lifting your goddamn finger to help me!”
“That is not true. I show up because I give a shit.”
I took a drag of my cigarette and started to feel very impatient with her. I also realized the emptiness of her apparition every time I’m drugged up.
“For once, just tell me something nice. I don’t give a fuck if you lie to me. The past seven months had been all fucked up. I had to fight tooth and nail to maintain my sanity!”
“I know, but lying to you would be wrong. Congratulations on the new job. And just try to believe that good things will do happen to you. After all everything’s eventual.”
“When will I feel better? Because to tell you the truth, I feel like I’m disappearing, I’m goddamn tired!”
“Just trust every moment that comes to you. Your ship of troubles has sailed. I know it’s not easy for you to be optimistic right now. But hope requires focus and strength in order for it to be effective.”
Dr. Spencer then hailed a cab and disappeared into the night. From that moment, I did sense that something is ending and something begins. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad. I finally called it a night and headed to Union Square. Right in front of the building with the digital numbers that keeps on going. I stared at the homeless kids sleeping on the pavement, the guy holding a sign that says “FREE HUG”, the guys playing chess, the woman reading tarot cards, and finally a guy who looks like Jesus sitting on the steps dressed in a three piece, black suit smoking a joint. I walked towards him and asked if I could share the joint.
“Can I take a hit?” I asked.
“Sure you can!” He replied.
I started smoking the joint and it was good stuff. It reminded me of the fresh weed back home in California. When I tried to give it back to him he refused and told me that I should finish it. He has a unique charisma, something that I rarely encounter these days. I also knew that he’s from a foreign land, somewhere spiritual.
“Thanks for the joint, I really appreciate it. Perfect timing for my fucked up life!” I said.
“You’re very welcome. Same here, I’m holding on to my sanity as we speak.” He replied.
“I’m Lorenzo by the way, what’s your name?”
“It’s Yeshua. Nice to meet you Lorenzo.”
The look in his eyes told me something, he needed a friend. He’s coming from a very troubled place just like me. And just like me, he’s also damaged and in pain.
“Yeshua as in Jesus?”
“Yes, I’m from Tel Aviv. And how about you?”
“From California. Los Angeles.”
Yeshua then stood up and looked deep into my eyes. I wasn’t sure what his intentions were. It wasn’t a psychotic look he gave me but a sincere one.
“Listen Lorenzo, I don’t want to waste your time. But I just lost my wife and my child, and I could tell you’re also suffering. I’d like you to join me for a drink in my hotel a couple blocks away, and we could keep each other warm. What do you say?”
“Yeah, I need that as much as you do.”
We then headed back to his hotel. As a born and raised Roman Catholic, I felt like I hooked up with the messiah. I also felt like I was in one of the scenes from the bible where Jesus stops on the side of the ride to save a stranger. It was the tale of the Good Samaritan. From time to time, I have to admit, I need to be rescued just like everyone else.
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.
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….
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…
Bushwick In Fiction 