Bushwick In Fiction

“Hologram”

August 13th, 2020

Hey there beautiful face

Pleased to meet you

My emotions

Needs rearrangement

I almost got killed

By the attraction

The tension got me uncomfortable

And I tried to say goodbye

Over a million times

But the kindness of your heart

Overshadowed everything

I killed every soul

Of our conversation

Thinking that I’ve won the war

But you kept coming back to me

Like a vampire that refuses to die

You will live

For centuries to come

An echo from my childhood

Also came back to me

Where I made a sketch

Of the face

Of the person that

I’m supposed to love

I’ve drawn the eyes

The nose, the lips

Of all the faces

I tried to love

None of them matched my sketch

Then I found you

And you matched perfectly

No I’m not in love with you

I love you all along
“Jesus Walks Into A Bar” (Part 2 of 2)

August 11th, 2020

It was almost 4 AM in the morning, but to be very specific, it was 3:45 AM. Myself and a few handful of dancing strangers inside the NARCISSA bar at the Standard Hotel in East Village showed no signs of slowing down. Me and Jay are also still dancing to a 2020 rave remix of “Heart of Glass” by Blondie. The bartender announced, “Last Call!”, and then in less than fifteen minutes, everyone started leaving. I looked at the time and it was 4 AM. I told Jay, that there’s this after hours club in Brooklyn called Bushwick A/V. So off we go to BK.

By the time we arrive at Bushwick A/V, the whole room was dancing, the energy of the place was reminiscent of STUDIO 54 back in the 70’s where hedonism was mandatory. There were round standing tables on the corner of the dance floor where I could see the after hour clubbers doing lines of cocaine, from the post college kids in their early twenties to the established professionals in their early forties. Jay went to the bathroom, I kept on dancing and then I noticed someone, staring at me from the corner of the dance floor. He was tall, probably around 6″1, curly blonde hair, deep blue eyes, high cheeked bone. He continued to look at me as if he knew me. I turned around to face my direction towards the DJ, then suddenly, he found himself dancing in front of me.

“Good music right?” He said.

I noticed a distinctive Scandinavian accent from him.

“Yeah, it’s legit!” I replied.

“I’m Markus, what’s your name?”

“I’m Lorenzo, where’s your unique accent from?”

“Gothenburg, Sweden.”

“I knew you were Swedish but I wasn’t sure which part.”

“How about you? Which part of America do you hail from?”

“California!”

“I knew it.”

“Oh yeah? What else do you know about me?”

“I know that you’re Bi.”

“Oh really? You’re pansexual that’s for sure!”

“You got me!”

When I looked at the corner, I saw a raven haired young woman, porcelain skin, grey eyes, she’s probably around twenty three or twenty four years old. Me and Markus looked at each other, smiled, and then gestured for the raven haired girl to come over. She started dancing toward us and then we started dancing with her as well.

“I’m Francesca, who are you guys?” She asked.

Her distinctive Southern California accent, where every word she utters is well pronounced, making herself sound like a television newscaster, peaked my interest and reminded me of growing up in the Hancock Park area of Los Angeles.

“I’m Lorenzo.” I said

“I’m Markus.” He replied.

“You two look hot dancing together, is it alright if I join in?” She replied.

“Of course!” I responded.

When I looked at the corner of the room, I saw Jay staring at the corner of the dance floor. His face painted with observation and curiosity. He didn’t look angry that I abandoned him and went with my rendezvous with some guy and girl. He was curious with a blank face and continued to stare at me and what I was doing. So I decided to stop dancing with Markus and Francesca and walked over to him.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey, found yourself some interesting friends I see..” He replied.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dip my finger in another trough.”

“Don’t be sorry, I enjoy seeing you having a good time.”

“Look, we don’t have to stick together the entire night. You can play with other people here tonight while I play with my new friends.”

“It’s OK, I know how to enjoy myself at a party without playing with anyone.”

Just like that I went back dancing with Markus and Francesca. Francesca took out a tiny ziploc pouch of molly. We all dipped our fingers in it and took hits. Then we all agreed to have a brief threesome in the bathroom. We held each other’s hands on our way to the unisex bathroom, with Jay watching me with concrete curiosity. He watched me, Markus, and Francesca make our way to the narrow bathroom. The three of us went inside and succumbed to our hedonistic principles. I’m not gonna lie, I enjoyed myself more than my two playmates did. There’s nothing more primal and intense than sexual chemistry. Our bodies flowed into each other like water. It was the ecstasy that I needed. By the time we got out of the bathroom, there was a line of drugged up motherfuckers, giving the three of us the dirty looks while we made our way back to the dancing area. Surprisingly, I saw Jay looking at me from the corner of the room. He looked somewhat disappointed but I can’t really point a finger on him since I’m not entirely sure if he’s jealous or angry, or whatever. So I exchanged numbers with Markus and Francesca and then walked over to Jay.

“Hey, how you doing?” I asked.

“Pretty good, how about yourself?” he replied.

“I want to ask you something.”

“Ask me anything”

“Why are you so being nice to me?! We’ve hooked up in some sleazy bathroom earlier, you’ve watched me whore around! You don’t even know me! And you’re still here waiting for me! Stop mindfucking me! What the fuck do you want?!”

He looked at me straight in the eyes, with nothing but kindness. I could sense that he understands my fucked up universe.

“I want to be around you as much as possible. I like you. I like you more that just a hook up that we did in that sleazy dive bar. And I don’t care how many people you whore around with, just as long as it makes you feel good. Because ultimately, I enjoy seeing you happy. I want you to be with me, and even if both of us decide to be in serious relationship, you can still have as many lovers as you want just as long you’re with me at the end of each day. I want you as a person, not just a random hook up. I’m aware that you’ve been hurt before by every single person whom you wanted to love you, more than thousand times. And I also know that we’ve only met tonight and I remembered something, when I was seven years old, I made a puzzle of the face of the future person that I’m supposed to love. Of all the lovers that passed through my life, none of them matched the puzzle. But then I met you, and you matched perfectly. And I also know, that you’ve been hurt before by every single person whom you wanted to love you, more than thousand times. If you allow me, I will make sure that you will never get hurt again and perhaps eventually forget what it’s like to feel hurt. This is not love at first sight, I love you all along!”

Tears stream down my face, not from sadness but from fear itself. The fear of being loved. He disarmed the ammunition of my heart and whatever’s left of it. What he said also caused an astral storm within my personal dimension. The undeniable fact that deep within myself, I too, wanted love as much as everyone else.

The tears continued to stream down my face, like the Hoover Dam. I tried so hard to contain every fragment of my emotion but at this time. I cannot.

He wiped the tears off my face with his hands and kissed me on the forehead.

“No more tears.” He said.

“About fucking time!” I replied.

I then grabbed his face and kissed him on the lips. Usually, kissing someone doesn’t get me euphoric since kissing itself isn’t really a part of sex. But this experience with him, is none like any other. For the first time, I feel love.

Jay took out a tiny vial of cocaine from his pocket and dipped a key, he snorted it first and so did I. We danced ourselves away to a techno remix of “Heaven Is A Place On Earth” by some 80’s pop singer that I don’t know. We danced until the after hours club closed down at around 2 PM.

THE END!
“Brewster Mindfuck”

May 28th, 2020

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
“Jesus Walks Into A Bar” (PART 1 of 2)

May 25th, 2020

I thought I completely lost my ability to write fiction. Writers block is like a fucking cancer, it multiplies its own life while killing you softly. I’m sure other writers can relate. So I did the effective way to combat writers block and depression, a known medication to many – sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

I found myself dancing to psychedelic trance music at the House of Yes, in Bushwick, Brooklyn. When I arrived at the party, I already had a glass of vodka and red bull from a bar nearby. Now my mission is to find a tab of ecstasy or some LSD. I need something. The curse of being sober is it makes you remember all the shit that you don’t want to remember. And the case of being fucked up is… Making this human existence less painful than it already should be. I was dancing my way around inside House of Yes, the mixed crowd of hipsters, yuppies, tourists, acrobatic dancers, and everyone else in their costumes , was grooving to the music. I still was on a mission to find something. Then I ran into an Israeli guy, with the flag of Israel wrapped around his neck like a scarf. I started talking to him and then found out that he had an extra LSD with him. We immediately forged our friendship and he gave me the LSD. His name was Avi, he was from Jerusalem. I hope he wasn’t related to Jesus Christ or The Virgin Mary. One hour after I took the LSD, it finally kicked in. And this wasn’t my first time 🙂 All the colorful installations and other visuals looked more vivid and their colors began to move and rotate, like a Van Gogh painting in full motion. The next day, I was still recovering from the acid high which made me restless. Suprisingly, the LSD dissolved every ounce of depression that I have and gave me a euphoria. I was feeling bored at my shared apartment on West 110th Street and Broadway. I always hated the Columbia University neighborhood… Maybe because they turned my application down when I applied for admission. LOL . Anyway, I hopped on the 1 train, transferred on Times Square to the N train and went to the Key Bar on East 13th Street and 1st Avenue. When I arrived I immediately noticed a guy in his mid thirties wearing a grey, three piece suit, with long long dark hair and full beard, he literally looked like Jesus with an expensive, designer dark brown suit. Seated next to him is a woman, in her late forties, but still looks ravishing, as if everyone around has aged and got old but she didn’t. She stayed the same because she wanted to, She’s wearing a red, silk headscarf on her head. She got long brown, wavy hair. She’s got a gold necklace with a sacred heart gold pendant. She’s literally the 2020 version of the Virgin fucking Mary. She started rubbing the back of Jesus, who’s starting to cry. Holy fucking shit! It’s the live version of the Madonna and Child. I could tell that he was in such pain, and his own mother is doing everything she can to calm down her own son. I told the bartender to get them whatever they wanted to drink. He served the Virgin Mary a full glass of red wine, while Jesus had a glass of whiskey on the rocks. They both looked at me, smiled and raised their glasses and drank it. Then, The Virgin Mary came up and sat next to me.

“I just wanted to say thank you for the drinks that you bought for me and my son.” She said.

“You’re very welcome. It’s my pleasure.” I replied.

“I would love to stay and get to know you, Lorenzo, but I have to see his father tonight. Please do me a favor, could you please keep my son company and make sure that he takes a cab to get home?”

“Of course, no problem. Wait a second, you know my name?”

“Yes, the bartender told me. My name is Maria by the way. Now go, please talk to my son. He could really use a friend especially in these distressing times…Now go, please talk to my son. He could really use a friend especially in these distressing times..”

“Okay, I will go ahead and do that.”

“Thank you dear, blessed be.”

She then kissed me on the forehead and left. I walked over to her son who’s sipping on a glass of bourbon. I sat next to him and and nodded my head.

“Hey” I said.

“How’s the going?” He replied.

“Oh you know, I’m just enjoying the last remnants of the LSD from last night..”

He then smiled and laughed a little bit.

“Any leftovers?”

I responded with a laugh.

“I wish there was, I would’ve given it to you. I’m Lorenzo by the way”

“I’m Jay, nice to meet you”

We both exchanged handshakes. I noticed that Jay is the kind of person that stares into your eyes intensely searching for something. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but it felt like he saw me before, in a different place and time. And I wasn’t aware that he watched me.

“Pleasure to meet you Jay, I met your mother earlier, she sent me your way to hang out with you. Is that alright?”

“Sure, why not! So What are you looking for tonight Lorenzo?”

“Wow, that’s a bold question. What am I looking for tonight? Some kind of comfort from someone that I don’t need to know. I just wanna forget my shitty life for a few minutes perhaps. I’m sorry, that’s too much information.”

“That’s okay, what if I tell you that I can offer some kind of comfort?”

“Maybe I’d like that.”

So Jay AKA Jesus Christ followed me to the dingy bathroom of the bar and went down on me like a pro. I guess this is what you call a fucking miracle. He made me cum like some pornstar at Studio 54 back in the 70’s. The divine oral sex reminded me that I’m still alive. After that heavenly connection, I immediately stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. Then, my deceased psychiatrist, Dr. Lessing, who killed herself from years ago appeared again to me. This time, she’s wearing a 1920’s red flapper dress, while sipping on a glass of champagne. She looked like she came straight out of The Great Gatsby novel.

“So you really think that a holy blowjob from the Jesus Look-A-Like will change your life huh?” She said.

“Fuck you!” I replied.

“Hey language, I just came from the 1920’s, where people were actually civil. But in all seriousness, how’s life in the world of the living?”

“It’s fucking spectacular. Everything is so wonderful.”

“You’re still a bad liar I see. On a positive note, you might have something real going on here…”

“Oh yeah, like what? Getting fucked over and over again?”

“Of course not, I mean not anymore. But according to my prophecy, you’ll have something worth living for this time around.”

“Are you still a stupid bitch?! You were my therapist and you committed suicide!”

“I’m sorry but human existence has taken its toll on me. You think it’s easy sitting there all day listening to people’s problems?! Did it ever occur to you that I might have personal demons of my own?”

“Why the fuck am I still arguing with you?! You’re dead….”

“Lorenzo!” Jay called.

“Hey, what’s up?” I replied.

“Who are you talking to? “

“Oh nothing, just me myself and I”

“Do you wanna go to another bar?”

“Umm, I don’t think so. Listen I really enjoyed meeting you and I have to go now…”

Jay grinned at me.

“Wow, just like that huh?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I follow your drift..”

“So you do that typically?”

“Do what typically?”

“After you hook up with someone, you just toss them aside like a piece of trash?”

“Dude, it’s not like that.”

“This may sound funny to you but I actually see us staying friends.”

What he said paused me on my tracks. I wasn’t really sure what his intentions are.

I agreed to have one drink with him and we started walking to a karaoke bar called Planet Rose on Avenue A. I then realized that all the hook ups I’ve had over these endless years were nothing but an illusion. Hanging out with the Jesus Look A Like, made me take a hard look into myself. The choices that I’ve made, the embarrassing standards I had to adjust due to the heat of the moment. What the fuck have I done with my life?! What the fuck is happening to my life?!

Jay pick the song “Living On A Prayer” by Bon Jovi and sang it with a divine energy. I picked up “Circles” by Post Malone, I sang it with pride in my fucking heart. We had a good time. After the karaoke shindig, I dragged him to another spot, at this place called Narcissa, on Cooper Square. I’d say that this one is a little more clubby, infested with fashion models from the runway and magazines. Everyone looked perfectly beautiful. But me and Jay, were dancing like maniacs to the techno tracks beings spinned by the blonde dj, who also looks like a model, I’d say someone who looks like Miley Cyrus, but the platinum and trashy version. Jay looked at me with some element of intensity in his eyes, I pretended not to care. Then all of sudden, a woman in a black dress, with long, wavy raven hair down to her hip. I also noticed that on the left side of her head, there’s a white rose with red tips on its petals. She was dancing between me and Jay, at this point, I’m not entirely sure if she wants a threeway, or she prefers to take one at a time.

For a hot minute, she gazed at me like a predator in the Amazon forest, then she turned around and did the same thing to Jay. Jay and I looked at each other and confused by her actions. She danced her way out of the dance floor and stood by the bar to order herself a drink. After a few shots of Jagermeister, I stood to her right side by the bar, while Jay stood on the left. She looked at both of us with a hint of suspicion.

TO BE CONTINUED…
“Grey Eyes”

November 6th, 2019

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
“Psychedelia”

August 19th, 2019

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
“Emotional Dysfunction”

June 29th, 2019

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
“Continuity”

November 5th, 2018

Continuity. The ability to go on no matter what. This is one of the key factors of human survival. I have noticed that the word survival, is synonymous to my own fucking existence. My name is Lorenzo Basque and my New York story continues… Sometimes, when there’s so much bullshit going on in my life, and I could barely keep up, comes a moment where I question if I should go on or just simply give up. And what about New York? Does the city still give a fuck about me when I’m circled back to my suffering? And surprisingly, the answer is yes. I haven’t written any fiction during the past 8 months of life. Of course I’m still living here in Manhattan. But that all changed, when a turn of events changed for a strange reason. Or maybe, I fragments of me changed to certain degree. But New York City itself – the place where I live and work, is still exactly the same. Which makes me wish that I’m New York, and not a New Yorker. Over the coarse of 10 months, I went through a couple of interesting jobs. The first one which got me hired, was a low level job working for a newsroom called New America Media, a liberal media company headquartered in the Soho District here in Manhattan, that broadcasts its news segments in social media platforms. It’s a pretty interesting job and I did enjoy working there. Until I got a new manager, some blonde haired, and cold blue eyed woman who never displayed any human emotion. She’s pretty much a fucking cyborg. She fired two of my colleagues whom she didn’t like and threatened to fire me if I disagree with her leadership. I stuck around with her draconian management style, which I regret because she made my office life a living hell! She was a total cunt and displayed mannerisms of a deranged psychopath. She has the face of a CIA torturer that you see in movies. There is no “light of life” in her eyes. Just cruelty and nothing else. Then one day out of the blue, I got a phone call from a staffing agency whom I emailed my resume’ years ago, asking me if I’m available and interested to work for Sheppard & Co, an exclusive wealth management firm based in Midtown, near Grand Central Terminal. The position was for General Admin and of course, out of desperate need to get away from my tyrant manager, I said yes. So the interview was set up and of course, the position was offered to me. Little did I know, it’s even more stressful that my job at the newsroom. The only plus is, I don’t have to get coffee or lunch for any of my managers. The managers there treat me decent actually and I do like them, they seem more human. But the workload is fucking stressful. I feel like, I went from one bullshit job to another. Suddenly and suddenly, I found myself in East Village,at a bar called Blue and Gold, on East 7th Street and 1st Avenue. I ran into a charismatic young woman, her name was Diane, I’d say she’s about twenty five years old and I saw her when I walked in of the bar, looking up profiles of random people on Instagram on her phone. Like a desperate and horny caveman, I sat next to her. She’s not extremely beautiful, but you can’t deny the fact that she’s also attractive. Slender figure, honey blonde wavy hair that’s down to her shoulders, and her light brown eyes.

“How’s that stalk session coming along?” I asked with a sneer in my face.

“Not so good, as it turns out these potential clients of mine aren’t who they describe themselves to be.” She replied.

“And what do you do?”

“I’m a saleswoman, I sell apartments here in Manhattan. And what about you, what do you do?”

“I’m not sure if I wanna tell you. It’s pretty mediocre and I’m not really proud of it.”

“Then why don’t you switch jobs?!”

“Easy for you to say!”

“Look, I understand it’s difficult to switch day jobs but somehow, I think if you’re not happy where you are, you might as well leave. It’s not healthy to stick around around to a job that you hate and makes you suffer most of the time. Regardless if it’s emotional or physical. We only live once and for you to spend months or years at a job that where it makes you wanna crawl out of your skin and kill yourself, then leave! It’s not worth it.”

“How about you? Do you like your job?” I asked.

She looked at me straight in the eyes and smiled.

“I love my job. I’m passionate about it, I love waking up in the morning and helping clients find their next home, there’s something special about bringing a new home to someone.”

“You seem very passionate about what you do, that’s something.”

“I know. After all, I grew up homeless. My parents both failed to make money to support us, so we moved from one apartment to another. You name the borough, we lived there. From Queens, Staten Island, Brooklyn, The Bronx, and here in Manhattan as well. They both had jobs but they struggled with drug addiction, so instead of saving their paychecks to pay our rent, their paychecks went straight to their drug dealers.”

I looked at her with sincere sympathy. I was able to relate to her struggle.

“I’m sorry to hear that”

“Thank you. But just because my parents fucked up and died before they reached their 40th birthdays, it doesn’t mean that I’ll end up like them. I wouldn’t allow that to happen to me. Never. By the way, what do you do?”

“I’m an office admin for a wealth management firm in Midtown. It’s not that interesting, believe me.”

“It could be interesting if you actually love your job. That’s the whole point. You know what, why don’t you get into real estate?”

“I never really thought about it. I know I have the salesmanship skills but I’m not so sure about real estate.”

“I think you have potential to succeed in it.”

She looked at me with serious face and belief at the same time.

“Thanks, it’s been a while since someone have faith in me like you do. Sorry, what’s your name?”

“It’s Diane. Diane Michaels. And you are?”

“Lorenzo. Lorenzo Basque. Amazing to meet you Diane.”

Diane then stood up from her chair and gestured that she needs to leave.

“Lorenzo, I would love to stay and chat but I got an early appointment with a client tomorrow morning. I’m showing a townhouse in West Village, it’s a pretty penny and I need to be there one hour early before the client arrives. But here’s my card, call me and you should seriously consider shifting into real estate sales.”

“I will consider it. Thank you.”

“Wait a minute, what is it that you do exactly? You have something creative in you and I’m not sure what it is..”

“Wow, you’re one of the few people who could see that. I’m supposed to be a writer. Fiction and poetry.”

“That is really fascinating! Imagine a money making real estate agent and a writer at the same time!”

“You sound more excited than I am.”

“Maybe I am. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, just make sure you text me back or call me back.”

She laughed softly, then left, I kept her business card with me. As it turns out, she’s a broker for Sotheby’s, a real estate company specializing in the sale of luxury properties. For the first time in a century, I found myself inspired and attracted to someone. So now I know, that she’s not bullshitting me. She’s not broke. She’s actually generating profits. And that’s always a plus. When I looked to my left, my dead psychiatrist, Suzanne, dressed in a 60’s fashion, a headband, and a dark blue silk dress, is smoking a cigarette.

“She’s a keeper, you should pursue her while she’s still available.” She said.

“I see you haven’t changed your dress since 1968!” I replied.

“How’s life?”

“Mundane, but it’s starting to be interesting again. How’s death?”

“It’s not bad, I don’t have to worry about diets or gaining wait. So this slender figure that accentuates this silk dress is forever. Listen, I think you just found the person who can actually rescue you.”

“That’s great, like a sugar mama?”

“Diane Michaels is more than that. Her ability to save you is more than just money and you know that.”

“Save me from what?!”

“From yourself.”

Suzanne then walked away and I went back inside Blue and Gold, to finish my drink.

The very next day, I enrolled at the New York Real Estate Institute on West 36th Street, for the New York State Real State Sales License, I have to say that I’m actually a little excited. My life here in New York City, will continue but will also about to change at the same time. Bad or good, I have no fucking idea.
“High Again”

October 8th, 2017

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.
“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”.