Bushwick In Fiction

“The Brooklyn Story”

September 26th, 2015

My shrink’s daughter finally agreed to have coffee with me, but not in Manhattan. She wanted me to meet her at some coffee shop near her loft on McKibben Street in Bushwick. I also found myself a day job as a file clerk for a law firm near Times Square. The dead end job paid only fifteen dollars an hour but it’s fulltime with benefits and guaranteed forty hours each week. So now, I’m looking for a cheap ass room to rent.

I hopped on the L train heading to Brooklyn to meet up with Bettina. The version 2.0 of my late shrink, Suzanne Lessing. I walked into the coffee shop and found Bettina reading “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath. I pulled out a chair and sat in front of her.

“Hello stranger!” I said.
“There you are, So what’s up with your world?”
“You sound just like Suzanne.”
“What did you expect? I’m her daughter and she’s my mother.”
“I expected you to not sound like a psychologist.”
“Okay, let’s have a normal conversation then.”
“I’m up for that, Forgive me for asking you this but you never told me how Suzanne killed herself.”

Bettina’s face got serious for a moment. I wasn’t sure if she’s gonna answer my question or would just tell me to fuck off.

“You never asked. She jumped in front of the incoming train on 49th Street. I think it was the N or Q train that shred her to pieces after she fell on the tracks. When I claimed her remains at the morgue, I couldn’t even recognize her. I’m sorry, is that too much information for you?”
“No, not at all. The more you tell me that, the more I want to get high..”
“I have a bowl of Obama kush upstairs in my apartment.”

We went up to her loft and she took out the bowl of Obama kush, she told me that a friend brought it for her from Hawaii.

“So do you live in the city?” She asked while filling the pipe with pot.
“Not really, I’m just crashing at a friend’s couch in Chelsea because I haven’t found a room to rent. I just got a job.” I replied.
“Really? What’s the new job?”
“Nothing special, it’s a file clerk position at a law firm in Midtown.”
“That’s cool. You know if you’re looking for a place to rent I think I can rent out the spare room that I have here.”

Bettina finally finished fixing the pipe and started to smoke it. She inhaled like a pro, and then handed it to me. I smoked it and inhaled intensely, damn it was fucking good!

“Are you sure you want to rent it out to me? I don’t think I could afford it, it’s a room in a fucking loft.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, I’ll let you name your price.”

I handed back the pipe to her and she smoked more. Before we know it, for some stoned reason, I started getting touchy-feely with Bettina. She didn’t really mind, she fucking liked it. We started making out like a couple of horny teenagers, the stood up from the couch. She then took off her blouse and skirt, and showed off her Victoria’s Secret bra and panty. She then walked to her bedroom and of course, I followed her. Our whole fuck session was very stoned but it also felt very good. We both fell asleep after it.

I woke up around 5:30 PM, Bettina was still in deep sleep on my side. When I looked in front of the bed, there was Suzanne Lessing, my dead psychiatrist, sitting on a chair, smiling at me.

“What’s up slut?!” Suzanne asked.
“What the fuck do you want now?” I asked back.
“I should be asking you that question, what are you doing with my daughter?”
“I’m comforting her because you killed yourself.”

I then smiled at Suzanne.

“Fucking someone’s daughter isn’t exactly comforting. Sounds like you’re trying to escape something.”
“Are we having a session right now?”
“Possibly, seems like you two are hitting it off. I could sense it.”
“You’re not mad that I just fucked your daughter?”
“Of course not, don’t be silly. But I think that it’s not a good idea for you to move in here.”
“I like Bettina, she’s smart and she’s great in bed.. I could actually see myself getting serious with her.”

Suzanne laughed her ass off.

“Seriously? You don’t know my daughter, if there’s anyone that I’d be worried about when it comes to serious relationships, she’s last person that I would worry about. You however, have this tendency to immediately trust someone emotionally, and Lorenzo, that is not healthy.”
“What’s your advice?”
“You should end this rendezvous with her before it turns to shit. I’ve seen you suffer and get hurt so much in the past and it’s too painful for me to watch it all over again.”
“I still believe in love. I’m sure I’ll meet the right person, and maybe that right person is your daughter.”
“I want you to remember that this isn’t fiction, this is reality. And reality bites you in the ass half the time. Well, time’s up!”

Suzanne stood up from her chair and left the room. I went back to sleep and when I woke up, it was around 8:30 PM. Bettina is gone, but left me a post-it. It says she will be spending the weekend in Vermont at a friend’s cabin and she will be back Monday, her note also said that I can move in anytime, and left me a set of keys on the kitchen table. I felt relieved that I finally have a place to stay along with a fulltime job. That same night, I came out to HIDEAWAY bar, also in Bushwick to catch up with my friend, Aurelie.

Aurelie got us some drinks, she had whiskey and ginger while I had a neat glass of MAKER’S MARK.

“So who did you have sex today?” Aurelie asked.
“I just fucked the daughter of my dead psychologist.” I replied.
“That sounds exciting, was it good?”
“Yes, she’s one of the best.”

At the corner of the bar, I noticed a girl with brown hair and fair skin, she’s probably about 23 or 24. My eyes were on her the whole night while talking to Aurelie.

“Lorenzo! Are you listening to me? I’m breaking up with my boyfriend! I need to find someone new tonight. Nothing serious but I need to find a guy that can make love like a member of cirque du soleil.”
“I’m sorry, that girl at the corner is distracting me.”

Aurelie looked back at the girl.
“You just wanna fuck her don’t you?!”
“I do actually.”
“I saw some guy who looks like a model by the patio, I’m gonna go say hi to him.”
“Go for it Madonna!”

I approached the girl at the corner, her name was Stella. She just moved here from Philadelphia, she’s also a fucking artist, she does painting and photography of different penises, one thing for sure she’s not gonna paint my dick or take photos of it! We started talking literature, and after a few shots of tequila and cans of PBR, we started making out. She invited me to come over to her apartment, a few blocks away from the bar but she needs to use the bathroom first. I tried to tell her that I wanna use the bathroom myself but I wanna be a fucking gentleman this time, so I watched her walked towards the only bathroom in the bar. Then Aurelie comes over, with a paint of sadness in her face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Men are such disappointments!” She replied.
“Uh-oh, what the fuck happened?”
“He told me that he only wants to stand on the corner to make a phone call but when I came over to see him, I found him making out with a dude and then told me that he still wants to have sex because he’s never been with a woman!”

I started laughing and almost couldn’t stop after Aurelie told me that story.

“Well at least he wanted to fuck you, right?”
“Yeah that’s true.”
“Then take that as a compliment.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Wait a minute, where the hell is Stella?!”
“Who’s Stella?”
“She’s the girl who was distracting me earlier. She said she went to the bathroom, I should probably check to make sure that she’s okay…”

I made my way to the bathroom of the bar, and when I was only two feet away, I heard someone moaning, more of like the sound of a group of people in a sexual orgy. I slowly opened the door, then I found Stella on her knees sucking the dicks of two hipster guys dressed in checked shirts and with caps that’s labeled BAE. Her head was going back and forth, I must say that she was giving an award winning blowjob. I wasn’t sure if I should be pissed or should I jump in, but something told me that I should get the fuck out of there. I also realized that if someone really wants to be with you, that person would make the effort and go out of their way to be a part of your moment. I walked out of the bathroom and found Aurelie finishing a glass of whiskey and ginger. I could tell she’s also fucking drunk.

“Hey, it’s time for us to go.” I said
“What happened to your Stella?” She asked.
“She’s in the bathroom busy sucking dicks!”

Aurelie laughed a bit.

“This night doesn’t want us to get laid isn’t it?
“I guess so.”

We both left the bar and I hailed a cab for Aurelie to get her home. I decided to walk by myself to ponder about my one night fucks, bar hook ups, or whatever the fuck you call it. Then I realized something. I realized that for the first time, I no longer felt the need to be a whorehouse just because someone fucked with my heart and soul. It’s a very liberating feeling. I also felt like released from the shackles of pain, suffering and rejection. Is this what they call a coming of age moment? If it is, then so be it!
“Lost In Techno”

July 26th, 2015

"Lost In Techno".
“Lost In Techno”

July 26th, 2015

On a typical Friday night, I was debating if I should hang out in Greenwich Village or should I just stay in Brooklyn, at some warehouse rave party. I decided to go out alone that night. For some reason, I felt the need to spend some time alone with myself. No temporary friends needed. I ended up at the warehouse party in Greenpoint here Brooklyn, a fucking rave pretty much. A mixed crowd, ranging from eighteen years old all the way to forty. There were three different rooms of music. It was hard techno in the first room, dubstep on the second room, and on the third room, I couldn’t really tell. It sounded like Skillrex and Avicii at the same time. Whether it’s a new genre, I didn’t really give a fuck. It sounded good, it provided me an invisible place where I could get lost and feel free. That’s the power of techno music. And as usual, someone offered me a tab of molly in order for me to get in the zone. Half an hour later, I found myself dancing in front of DJ along with the rest of ravers who were also fucking high as fuck. Bright lights and illuminated, every sensation was heightened, I was extremely alive. While I was dancing by myself I saw a tall blonde girl, she’s probably Swedish, probably about twenty three or twenty four years old. She wasn’t dancing, she was just standing there, wearing a brown hippie dress that she probably made herself and a crown on her head made of daisies. I decided to dance my way towards her and started to talk while the blaring music continues to play in the background.

“Hey there!” I said.
“Hey there yourself, what are you doing?” She asked.
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Whatever it is you’re doing, you need to stop. You may look young and have the stamina of a teenager but you can’t rave forever.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Sooner or later, you will eventually stop this.”
“I don’t fucking think so!”

I noticed that she’s trying to ruin my high, so I pulled away and went to the middle of the dance floor. The next day, I woke up at some loft in Williamsburg, by Bedford Avenue and 7th Street. Everyone at that loft was sleeping and I slowly walked out of the place. That same day, I’ve thought about seeing my psychologist, Suzanne Lessing. I haven’t seen her in a long time and I think it’s time now. I sensed that something was fucking up my life again and I need to figure out what it was. Since I’m always having troubles admitting any mistakes on my own, it’s better with a psychologist. I called her office but no one’s answering. So I decided to just come over there without notice. I walked over to her office near Union Square. I knocked on her door and no one seemed to answer. I knocked again, and a young woman opened the door. Full make up on her face and dressed just like Suzanne.

“Hi, I’m Lorenzo, is Suzanne Lessing in?” I asked.
“She’s not in, do you have an appointment?” She asked me back.
“No I don’t. Is she here?”
“She’s not coming back.”
“Why not?”
“Because she killed herself three days ago.”

Hearing the death of my own psychologist made me feel like shit. The woman’s name who answered the door was her daughter, Bettina. She goes to college in Europe. I asked her to have coffee with me at Think Coffee on Mercer Street and 3rd Street. We were both sitting on the table near the glass window. She’s had green tea and I had iced coffee.

“Did she leave any suicide note?” I asked.
“Yes, she sent an automatic email to everyone actually, including myself.” She replied.
“What did it say?”
“It said that she’s been suffering from depression since birth and he only reason that she became a shrink was because she was depressed. She thought that being a psychologist could protect her from her own demons but she was wrong. It only made it worst.”
“Fuck, now I have to find a new shrink. Who the hell is going to fix me now, my psychologist is dead.”
“I’m sure you’ll find someone who isn’t suicidal.”
“By the way, how are you feeling?”
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t feel sad?”
“No, I’m actually happy for her because she no longer has to pretend that her life is put together.”

Even though Bettina said that she’s not sad, I still sensed her loss. I decided to invite her to an upcoming rave in Bushwick.

“Hey my DJ friend from Paris will be spinning the tables tonight at a warehouse in Brooklyn, you should come.” I said.
“Oh, I’d like to but I have dinner with my boyfriend tonight.” She replied.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know you’re with someone, I didn’t mean to-”
“Hey relax, just because I have a boyfriend it doesn’t mean that I’m not allowed to see other people.”

She then smiled at me like a Russian slut, and I liked it.

“I see, so you’re gonna cheat?”
“No, me and my boyfriend are in an open relationship.”
“That’s cool.”
“Anyway, I can’t stay too long. I have to go. It was nice to meet you Lorenzo”

She then took out a card from her purse and left it with me at the table. It has her contact info in it. I then smiled at myself and thought that it’s always good to have a business card of a future fuck buddy.

That night, I went to the warehouse club in Bushwick. My friend Aurelie from France, is on stage spinning the tables. Every time we hang out, she always asks me about sexcapades and it always entertains her. I don’t really mind telling her though. It was a massive warehouse, there was a small bar but not everyone was boozing. When I got there, half of the people on the dance floor are already rolling. I looked around for some MDMA pill and eventually found one. Some kid dancing by himself, I asked him if he knows where to score and he asked me back, “What are you looking for?” I said I’m looking for X, which is another term for ecstasy. I took the pill and started dancing around until the high finally kicked in. I made my way to the middle of the dance floor and when I looked back I saw Suzanne, my dead psychologist. I stopped dancing and walked towards her. She went outside and then I followed her. When I stepped out of the club, I saw Suzanne smoking a cigarette at the street corner under a light post making her look more isolated. I assumed that I’m just hallucinating due to the MDMA that I took.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Just looking out for you, I feel kind of bad that I’m no longer alive to help you fix yourself.” Suzanne replied.
“Please go away, I’m high as fuck right now and the last thing I want is to hallucinate.”
“Oh relax, you’ll thank me for this session when you’re sober. I think you should stop destroying yourself. You still have your whole life ahead of you, Lorenzo. Getting high and having endless sex with strangers will not heal anything. It will actually just make you feel less of who you are.”
“How could you be so certain?”
“Because I could see the past, present, and future. That’s the fun part of being dead. It’s kind of like watching netflix but better.”
“Tell me about my future.”
“I can’t, it’s against the rules.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“I’m serious, just because I’m a ghost it doesn’t mean that I don’t follow the rules. I tell you what, I think you should take out my daughter, you two have a lot in common. And I think it’s time for you to be with someone.”
“Oh great, so I should just get married, raise a bunch of rugrats, and live in suburbia.. No fuck that! I’d rather kill myself if that’s what you see in my future.”
“All I’m saying is it’s better when someone’s there for you. I’m not telling you to settle down and raise a family like a bored Manhattan banker. We all need someone to love us.”
“Okay, now you sound more pathetic. I don’t need anyone to be there for me. The kind of life that you want me to live sounds too conformist and I don’t want it. I will never follow the crowd, I will always go my own way.”
“What do you want then? What is it that you really want?”
“I want to feel better and feel alive all the time.”
“You need someone in order to have that kind of life. You can’t always accomplish everything on your own.”

Suzanne drops her cigarette on the ground and steps on it.

“Sometimes I think of doing the same thing that you did.”
“Don’t do that, you’re fate is different and probably better than mine. Suicide doesn’t really fix anything. It will will hurt someone one way or another. You’re still alive, you have every chance to make anything happen. Me I’m dead, I will never feel the air on my skin or wake up in a warm bed, I no longer have the chance to make things happen, I’m done. Try to cherish your life if you can. I will see you on your next high.”

“Lorenzo! Who are you talking to?” Aurelie yelled.

I looked to my side and Aurelie was there calling me to come over. I looked in front of me and Suzanne was gone. I walked over to catch up with my friend.

“I was just talking to myself.” I said.
“Stop talking to yourself, let’s go back inside. I will play some new tracks! Have you found anyone here to have sex with?” Aurelie asked.
“No, not yet.”
“Let’s go back inside the club, you will find someone.”

I went back inside the club with Aurelie, already feeling sober. But the things that Suzanne said to me kept playing in my mind like a broken record.

TO BE CONTINUED…
“A Million Miles Away”

July 5th, 2015

This chapter’s gonna be a dark one. It could be sad or funny. Either way, it’s some kind of transgression. You can’t get to the tunnel of light without going through the darkness. The past year has been a roller coaster ride for me. I fell hard into the ground and got up many, many times. I’m not exactly sure how but now here I am. I don’t know where to begin but at least, I’ll give it a fucking try.

Last week, I found myself at a party in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The townhouse was rundown but it’s a spacious joint with a nice grassy backyard. Some people at that party was rolling on the grass because they’re high on mushrooms. Meanwhile in the living room, there are three girls doing lines of cocaine while a guy sitting next to them is playing an acoustic guitar with a cigarette in his mouth. I felt high the entire night but I don’t remember from which drug it was. All I remember was, every stranger I ran into offered me a spliff or cocaine. I made my way to the top floor of the townhouse and when I got there, I found a group of college kids doing crystal meth. I could tell that their hipster lifestyles are about to fade. I texted some of my minimal friends here in New York City but no one’s fuckin’ responding. Whenever I found myself reaching out to friends like I’m reaching for the fucking stars, I start to wonder if any of them are real or just hallucinations. If they’re all hallucinations indeed, then I’m completely fucked. I got bored watching the overcompensated brats so I proceeded to the next room. There were four people making out on a queen size bed, two girls and two guys, while the rest of the watchers are enjoying the scene.

All of a sudden, the fucking lifestyle that I used to enjoy is losing its taste. I don’t know exactly why. Being in the center of every debauchery in crowded rooms, I felt like a million miles away from everything and everyone. Am I getting old? Or am I enjoying myself more than I should?! I left the party and hopped on the J train on Marcy Avenue and went back to the hostel in Bushwick where I was staying at the moment. I went straight to the backyard and it was quiet, maybe because it was almost 3 AM. But the candles on top of the table in the seating area are still lit. I could tell someone was boozing there. So I sat down and lit a cigarette. I almost forgot that I still have a bottle of vodka that’s not even half empty in the fridge at the kitchen. I went back inside and retrieved it. When I got back outside someone was already sitting at the table, it was a guy with a wrist brace in his left hand while holding a bottle of Gatorade in his right hand.

“Is there vodka in that Gatorade?” I asked.
“Oh yeah sure!” He replied in a sarcastic manner with a smile in his face.
“Well, I got something better!” I replied while raising the bottle of Ketel One vodka.

“I’m Lorenzo by the way.”
“I’m Antonio”
“Where are you from?”
“I’m from Galicia, Spain. And you?
“California, from Los Angeles”
“What happened to your left hand?”
“I broke it while skiing in Switzerland”
“Well that sucks! Sorry to hear that”
“Yeah, it literally fucked up my life”
“Really?”
“Yes, because of this I was unable to play the guitar, I’m all messed up now”
“Don’t say that, you will be able to play music again” I said, trying to encourage him.

What he doesn’t notice was I was also very depressed and I’ve been filling my own void with drinking, drugs, and sex. I’ve been avoiding my own depression my doing all sorts of shit. But meeting this person reminded me that I need to be strong in my own battle. Life is fucking hard sometimes and it requires Spartan strength.

I’m sensing that this is going to be a depressing conversation so I decided to pour the vodka on empty plastic cups and started to drink myself. I sat down and offered my bottle of vodka which was ice cold because I left it in the fridge. Antonio eventually told me that breaking his wrist not only disabled him to stop from playing music but also from working out and being a womanizer. And now, he’s less of an asshole than before. I don’t meet a lot of people who are willing to admit but somehow he did. In a strange way, I found myself drawn to him, I guess maybe because I’m as damaged as he was. We ran out of vodka and I went over to the fridge in the kitchen to see if I had any booze left. Luckily, I still had half a bottle of MAKER’S MARK bourbon and I brought it down. While I was on my way back down to the backyard, I saw a guitar lying in the sofa of the living room, I took it with me and hoped that Antonio would play something. Also, I noticed that there was something in front pocket. A tiny, glass bottle of Amyl Nitrate labeled “Amsterdam” but when I opened it, I found two tabs of ecstasy with smiley faces, I placed it back inside the bottle and kept in my pocket. I don’t remember who gave it to me but I’m certain that it was from the party in Williamsburg.

“Hey look what I found!” I said while showing off the guitar while holding the bottle of bourbon on my other hand.

“You talking about the bottle of bourbon?” Antonio asked.
“No dummy, I brought you a guitar!” I replied.
“I will not play the fucking guitar!”
“How would you know that you’re never gonna play it?”
“Because the doctor told me after I fucked up my wrist!”
“You believe and follow every logical instruction in life?”
“Well yeah”
“I don’t, I’m all about taking risks!”

We started drinking the bourbon which ran out pretty fast. Then we talked about our battles with depression and suicide. He asked me how I contemplated suicide and I told him that I’ve thought about sleeping pills and whiskey. I don’t know why but when I told him my suicide procedures, he seems to be relieved that he wasn’t the only one who’s feeling low-fi. I took out the tiny bottle of Amyl Nitrate with the label “Amsterdam” and placed in on the table.

“What’s that?” He asked.
“It’s not what it looks like!” I responded.
“It’s a bottle of poppers..”
“No it isn’t”

I opened the “Amsterdam” bottle and took out the two tabs of ecstasy. Seeing the two tabs of MDMA peaked Antonio’s interest. We took the tabs of ecstasy and thirty minutes later, we were both high as fuck. I asked him to play the guitar for me.

“I will only play the guitar if you give me a hug!”
“OK, fine.”

I gave him a hug and then he took off his wrist brace and showed me the damaged wrist. It looks a little twisted.

“I’m not supposed to play the guitar but since you asked, I will play it”
“Fuck yeah!”

He asked me what song I want to hear and I told him that I would love to hear the “RING OF FIRE” by JOHNNY CASH. Antonio started playing it and it sounded fucking awesome. The wrist problem that he had didn’t appear to bother him as played the strings of the guitar. Seeing that was very impressive. That alone made me realize that nothing should stop you from living your life, no matter what happened or what anyone said.

After Antonio played the guitar, we ran to the bathroom upstairs and tried to make out. For a minute, it was cool but then we both realized that it’s not something that what we want. That we were both just passing through a moment and eventually need to “move on”. He went back to Europe the next day and I felt the need to apologize to him on Facebook the next day because of what happened because I felt like I influenced everything that occurred. He replied that I shouldn’t worry about it because he had a good time even though it was a little weird for him.

I was a million miles away from reality during that night but I lived in a moment. And sometimes, it another person to make you realize that you need to keep on living.
“Guten Abend!”

May 5th, 2015

New York City demands exuberant strength from every person who decides to call it home. I’m Lorenzo Basque and I have tried every drug except LSD, had sex with almost everyone and I do not feel ashamed of it. In fact, I feel proud of myself. I refuse to identify with a single label that would put me in a box just like what society does to everyone. But the only thing I haven’t explored is probably the experience of what it’s like to be in a serious relationship with someone. That’s my missing link. I don’t want to call myself a weak motherfucker just because there’s one human experience that I’m missing, no fucking way.

I showed up thirty minutes early for my date with Franziska, my first real date in years, with a bundle of white tulips. I asked the Hostess for a table near the window. I have to admit that I feel fucking nervous, like a high school kid who’s about to pick up the most popular girl for date to watch a drive in movie. I sat down on the table by myself and started writing the things that I will talk about to Franziska. Then I started to imagine what would her company be like without me fucking her. Hi, my name is Lorenzo Basque and I’m an asshole. This whole dating thing is making me feel stranger than fiction. Finally, Franziska arrived. She was wearing a burgundy blouse and black leather skirt and black stiletto. She styled her hair similar to Audrey Hepburn from the movie, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” and her lips as red as blood, she could be my own version of Snow White from the Black Forest. I have to say, Franziska looked more beautiful than the last time I saw her. She immediately noticed me and

“Guten Abend!” She said to me while smiling.
“Good evening!” I responded.

Franziska and stared at each other for a minute and I almost forgot to stand up and pull up a chair for her. I gave her the bundle of tulips that I bought.

“You look nice, like I really want to fuck you right here!”

She just smiled at me.

“I thought this was supposed to be a date without fucking?”
“Oh right, sorry.”
“So why are we here Lorenzo?”

I was surprised on her question.

“What do you mean what are we doing here?”
“Why did you ask me for a dinner date?”
“I think you already know why, I want us to be–”
“To be what?”
“Can I answer your question later?”
“OK, fine. This restaurant is really nice.”
“Yeah, This is where I took Hanna four years ago.”
“Who’s Hanna?”
“She’s the creature from Munich who fucked me up!”
“Oh, do you mind giving me a little story about her?”

I laughed off my sadness for a little bit before I revealed details about Hanna to Franziska.

“Sure, I can try. Four years ago, I was working at a hostel in Harlem and I met her. I fell madly in love with her, like head over the fucking heels! But she didn’t feel the same. So I spiraled out of control. I couldn’t sleep and eat for weeks, all I could think about is her. I would say that being with her was the most catastrophic and happiest moment of my life.”

“Did she have any idea of what you were going through? I mean, did she know?”

“Absolutely, but she didn’t do anything. I mean, we did not even fuck! She just stopped talking to me and eventually deleted me on facebook, I really hated her when she did that. What a cunt!”

Franziska laughed a little bit and seemed to be amused.

“Wow, sounds like she left her mark on you.”
“Unfortunately, she did.”
“Are you closed down?”
“What do you mean?
“Some people when they go through that experience, they close down and become frozen.”
“No, I’m not closed down at all. I’m still very much in love.”
“I’m aware that you and I are on a date right now but I’m not sure if I could take Hanna’s place..”

I looked into Franziska’s eyes and noticed her honesty. I also looked at the corner of the restaurant and saw an image of Hanna. She is staring back at me with longing in her face, and then she began to speak. Every word she said echoed in the room like a melody.

“You really think she’s honest with you? No one will ever be honest with you Lorenzo. There’s only me and will always be the only one. I will dance in your heart forever. You and I both know that you will never love anyone as much as you love me. I’m you’re one true love. Any attempts that you make to erase me from your memory will only make you suffer. I will dance in your heart forever.” Hanna uttered.

“I’m still in love with you…” I murmured while looking at an empty corner of the room.

“What?” Franziska asked.

I looked back at the corner of the restaurant and Hanna appeared again.

“You are such a pussy! Tell this German bitch to fuck off! All you need and want is a Bavarian woman like me. No one will make feel like a real man more than I do. Get out of this circus now while you can. Living with me inside your head is so much better than reality. Why don’t you just accept that? Instead of pretending that you could love again?! I’m the only one that you love, there is no else!”

“Shut up!!” I yelled and stood up from my chair. Franziska was looking at me, she is disturbed and worried at the same time.

“Lorenzo, who are you talking to? There is no one on that corner.”

I also looked around and noticed that all the restaurant patrons were looking at me. I looked at the empty corner of the room again and Hanna was no longer there. I looked back at Franziska and felt sorry that she had to see me like that. I also noticed that tears were streaming down my face. I was crying like a motherfucker without even realizing it. Am I losing my fucking mind?

“I’m sorry Franziska, I can’t be here right now.

I abruptly ran out of the restaurant and made my way towards Broadway and 20th Street. I was running like a lost puppy looking for someone who had my leash. I got tired of running and ended up on 3rd Avenue, at this place called BARFLY. I quietly walked inside and saw an attractive couple staring at me as I order my glass of drink at the bar. I had a neat glass of bourbon. The attractive couple, both in their late thirties I say, looked like a mature version of Abercrombie & Fitch models. All white but good enough to have sex with. I raised my glass to them and they cheered back with their drinks. At the moment, I know where this night is going.

TO BE CONTINUED…
“An Affair In Fiction”

April 11th, 2015

Every fragment of past experience has provided me barricades of protection from everyone. Trying to protect myself from this crazy little thing called love is beginning to tell me that it’s fucking useless. If I tell you that love didn’t fuck me up, I’d be lying. And I hate lying. And I hate liars. One of the reasons that I’m still standing and still living here in New York City is because this is the only place in the planet that I truly love. From the rows of brownstone apartments in Brooklyn to the bars and restaurants of Lower Manhattan. I love this stinking city from the abyss of my impatient heart.

Last Sunday morning, I woke up next to Franziska, the German tourist I met outside of a bar in East Village. I slowly got out of her bed and pulled up my pants. Then she woke up and stared at me like a wolf.

“A goodbye after a one night fuck would be nice you know..” She said.
“Oh hi, I didn’t mean to sneak out like this..” I replied in a apologetic way.
“It’s okay Lorenzo, I’m not like most girls who will bitch about this just because you fucked off like a runaway lover.”

I realized something. The way she used her words and constructed her sentences, I immediately knew that she’s a fucking writer like me. I am so fucked. I promised myself over and over again not to hook up with another writer. Oh fuck, what have I done?!

“I see, I get your point. So what do you do for a living?”
“I’m kind of a writer..”

I grinned a little bit. A part of me wanted to jump out of her window due to the fact that I just fucked a writer like myself. I don’t want to end up like one of her fictional creatures on a “Sex and the City” column, German edition.

“What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a- wri-ter.”
“Sounds great, why is it so hard for you to admit that you have the talent to compose words and sentences?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t normally talk after a one night stand and I would prefer to leave it this way.”

I put back my shirt on and tried to walk away because I didn’t feel comfortable talking to her.

“Are you scared?”

I stopped walking. That question alone felt like she hit me on the neck with a baseball bat. I looked back at her with a serious and slightly offended face.

“Why the fuck would I be scared?”
“Because you’re trying to avoid a conversation with me. I’m sorry, have I offended you?”
“No, of course not..”
“Okay, I will stop talking. Why don’t we exchange numbers and see how it goes? I dare you!”

I ended up exchanging numbers with Franziska. She also told me that she’s actually here in New York for a six month internship at HBO. That morning, I met up with Candice and Megan at some brunch place with no name in Alphabet City. I told them about Franziska and also the fact that I’m uncomfortable hooking up with another writer.

“I say, delete her number and move on!” Candice said.
“No, I say give it a chance and take her out on a real date.” Megan said.

Candice looked at Megan like she was retarded.

“Megan, Lorenzo is a writer, he can’t be having sex with another writer!” She exclaimed.
“Why not?!” Megan asked.
“Because it’s against the laws of fiction!” I shouted.

Megan looked at me and seemed to be sad.

“Aren’t you supposed to be glad that you guys have something in common? She politely asked me.
“No not really. I don’t want to end up in her novel, poetry, or any of the shit that she writes.”

Candice picks up her glass of mimosa and gestures to the server to refill it.

“You know what you should do? Patent and Copyright your name and personality. That way if she ever writes a character that signifies you, you can collect royalties! Where’s my drink?!”
“Don’t give her that kind of advice Candice! Lorenzo, why don’t you ask her out for a real date and see if there’s something.” Megan justified.
“If there’s what?!” I retorted.
“There’s chemistry or some weird alchemy! Megan replied.
“Megan dear, Lorenzo cannot fuck another writer! Candice shouted.

I finished my glass of mimosa and decided to leave.

“OK, I think I’m done here. I will go for a walk in East Village.”

Candice and Megan both offered to walk with me but I declined. I decided to stroll alone. For some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about Franziska. I remember the cologne that she wore when I was making love to her, CHANEL 5, the only reason I know the brand was because I saw two bottles of it in her bathroom, her deep green eyes, her soft, wavy dark hair, and of course her . I checked my BLackBerry to see if I managed to get her number before I left her hotel room and surprisingly I did. I texted her and asked her to have dinner with me at MARRI VANNA Russian restaurant in the Gramercy District. This may sound cliché but asking her out made me feel nervous like a fucking teenager asking someone to a dance prom.

TO BE CONTINUED….
“Love & Filth”

March 16th, 2015

I can’t remember the last time I was in love. It’s very easy to confuse fucking a stranger for a crazy little thing called love. Last Friday night, I hung out with British friend, Darren Tillman at BAR PRIMI in the Bowery district. I told Darren that I couldn’t afford to wine and dine in that place because I just started working a new job in Guest Services at the Soho House. But then again, he’s stock broker in Wall Street so spending a few hundred dollars on a night out is nothing for him. I had a pastrami sandwich with a full glass of STELLA ARTOIS. Darren ordered a medium rare steak and washed it down with almost a half a bottle of white Bordeaux. For some reason, I feel thankful that I always end up with friends who knows how to live life and has boundless appetite for alcohol. LOL.

“So what’s up with your world? I asked.
“Not too bad, I just got a $350,000 bonus last night.” He replied.

I was stunned of how calmly he said it. As if it was nothing. I suppose if you earn seven figures a year, and you live in such financial comfort, money like that doesn’t shake you up anymore.

“Wow, that’s pretty awesome dude. I wish I got that bonus too, I’m still earning shit wages”
“Why don’t you get into prostitution? It’s good money”
“Fuck off!”
“Oh lighten up mate! I was just fucking with you! We should keep going, I wanna check out this new bar on 2nd Avenue.”

We got out of BAR PRIMI and went to 2nd Avenue the new bar that Darren was talking about was nowhere to be found. So we ended up at the Beauty Bar on East 14th Street. Darren was spinning like an idiot at the dance floor, grooving it up to the sounds of THE CURE, ECHO & THE BUNNYMEN, and MADONNA. I thought it was a funny scene to watch, a British male in his late thirties, dancing by himself and trying to get it on with a posse of twenty something girls! LMFAO!! But I gotta give him credit for managing to make out with a couple of girls in there. The British accent definitely made it easier for him to win those girls over. Then I asked myself a question, eight years from now, when I’m thirty eight, do I want to behave like that? Or I’m just gonna sit on the corner of the room and just watch people go crazy?! It’s hard to answer because I don’t know if I’ll stay the same or change with age. I know that I’m stubborn I don’t like to change… But who the fuck knows? And most importantly, who cares?! What if I do? Is there a rule that one should “act his age” when you reach a certain time? I think subscribing to the idea that one should “act his age” is total bullshit. While I was pondering on my thoughts, I saw that two girls, looking like they’re from NYU, splashed both of their drinks on Darren and left abruptly. I came over to Darren to see what just happened.

“Dude, what the fuck just happened?”
“Oh they’re just uptight cunts! I offered both of them a thousand dollars cash if they would take turns sucking my cock but they overreacted!”

I then laughed for a little bit.

“Why do you always feel the need to pay someone to fuck you?”
“It’s a long story, let’s get out of this shithole!”

We walked out of the Beauty Bar and went to a bar across the street, The Belfry. It used to be my watering hole but then again time changes most things and this place did not stay true to its form. It became another preppy college bar. I tried to ask Darren again about his need to pay woman just to have sex with him. Even though he knows for a fact that there’s actually women out there who actually wants to have sex with him for free. He bought us two tequila shots and two cans of PBR.

“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure mate, is it about a threesome?”
‘No, don’t fucking say that!”

Darren then started laughing like a fucking jackass.

“I’m sorry Lorenzo, what was your serious question?”
“Why do you have to pay women to fuck you?”

His face got serious for a minute. I would say there was a moment of hesitation before he even answered my question. But after the tequila shots and the cheap hipster beers, he finally told me his truth.

“Ten years ago, I was married to the most beautiful woman, the only one I had sex with for free. We got married after graduating from high school and stayed happily married until her skin cancer took her away from me.”
“What was her name?”
“Nicole. She was the love of my life. No one ever came close since she died. On her death bed, I promised her that I would only sleep with women that I do not love. So I think I’m doing a great job in keeping that promise!”
“I’m sorry to hear about your wife, I didn’t mean to dig up-”
“Enough about me, let’s talk about you!”

I was a little worried about what Darren was gonna ask me. And as I expected, he asked me something about Hanna.

“Alright, what do you want to know?” I asked confidently.
“Have you ever loved someone that you almost died?”
“Absolutely, Hanna.”
“Hanna is a beautiful name.”
“She is or she was, because she probably don’t know me anymore. She was the only person whom I truly loved. Being in love with her was the most destructive and happiest moment of my life. She made me feel higher than cocaine. Too bad she didn’t feel the same.”

Then I started feeling like I did four years ago. Feeling like shit with my fucking guts hanging out.

“I’m sorry too mate, how about a double shot of Johnny Walker?”
“Yeah, I’d like to chug that but I think I need to have a cigarette first.”

I stepped of the bar and noticed a dark haired girl, with deep green eyes, and porcelain skin, she had a familiar charisma within her which worried me a bit. She was smoking a cigarette by herself while staring at the busy street. Whenever I see a beautiful creature alone, I get suspicious. Why is that person alone? She should be surrounded by people whom she mesmerized without knowing it. Our eyes met and she began to smile a little bit. A partial smile that you give to a stranger. I then decided to approach her.

“I’m sorry, can I buy a cigarette from you?” I asked.
“It’s okay, I’ll just give you one..” She replied.

The minute she started to speak, I knew her accent was German. I got more interested in her, obviously. She gave me a cigarette, she was smoking Marlboro red, the kind that I usually smoke whenever I get the nicotine cravings. She lit up my cigarette with her metallic lighter labeled I LOVE NEW YORK.

“Thank you, I appreciate it. So where are you from?”
“Augsburg, in Germany.”
“You’re a Bavarian. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Very good, you know German geography really well!”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”

I held her right hand and kissed it like we’re at a medieval party somewhere in the fucking Black Forest.

“I like the hair”
“Thanks, I like the deep green eyes. But this night hasn’t been kind to me, all I want to do is to get laid!”
“I’m with you on that.”

Just like that, I looked at her straight in the eyes, and knew what she wanted. She also knew what I wanted. We both wanted to fuck. So I asked her the most important question of the night.

“Do you want to get out of here?”
“Yeah, I’m staying at a hotel near Union Square, we could go there now.”
“Before we hop into a cab back to your hotel, can you tell me your name?
“That’s not really important but I will. It’s Franziska.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Lorenzo.”

We hailed a cab and went back to her hotel. She was staying at The Hyatt Union Square. We started making out like crazy as soon as we got inside the cab. I also sensed that she’s someone that I’d like to have a serious relationship with or someone I’d like to break my fucking heart.

TO BE CONTINUED…
“Child Of The Night”

March 9th, 2015

Trace my foot prints
Down on Second Avenue
Look for my shadow
On Saint Mark’s Place
See me dancing and drinking alone
In Lower East Side
Just me and the night
With a spark
Of the Universe in my eyes
As I kiss
Every stranger
In the pretense of love
Neon lights on Broadway
Creates an image
Of a face without a name
Giving me a hint
That someone
I used to know
Had crossed the
Oceans of time
Just to find me
Hopped into a
Sleazy bar
While soaked
In whiskey and cigarettes
I suddenly found
Myself disconnected
From everyone
But it didn’t
Bother me because
I still have New York
Fell asleep on the subway
And woke up on
A Saturday night of 1986
Made it through the
Velvet ropes of STUDIO 54
I kept dancing
On my own to
A techno track
From Munich

-Paolo Roca
“Winter in New York”

February 20th, 2015

New York City has one of the harshest winter that anyone can experience here in the US. They also say that if you can stand the extreme winter or extremely humid summer, you can survive any weather condition anywhere. Well, maybe except the winter in Canada. But there’s something about the New York City that I do like. I know it sounds weird but I actually love the snow. There’s something mystical about it, I should be over this by now. Having lived here for almost five years since I left California. People from Los Angeles are supposed to hate New York. But for me, it’s the whole other way. I’m from Los Angeles and I love New York City from the bottom of my impatient heart. And the worst part of all during the winter is when you realize that you don’t have any friends…. It used to be like that for me but not anymore.

After I made some new friends via Craigslist last week, I realized that sometimes, if you truly want something, you have to go out of your way and ask for it. And I did, using the strictly platonic section of Craigslist. Now back to the shitty reality, I’m still scrounging for a fulltime job, I’ve been working as an office temp here in Manhattan for almost a year now. I started to think, what the fuck happened to my charisma?! Not to sound cocky but I used to get these crappy nine to five jobs like pancakes and now it’s fucking different. I don’t blame the Winter for this. But the last time someone hired me fulltime was almost 2 years ago, Winter of 2013. It was an instantaneous hiring process. I worked as an office manager for a design agency and then after a year and a half, I got burnt, accepted a job offer somewhere and then the recruiter that I was working with didn’t consult with his superior about hiring me so the job offer was not authorized. So I’m fucked. I ended up losing my apartment because of that bullshit. But I need to stop dwelling on it, maybe it’s true what they say, there’s a fucking reason for everything. Luckily, I was able to survive by working temp jobs all over the city. But I still need a fucking fulltime job! One Wednesday morning, I decided to call in sick at the temp agency that coordinates all my weekly assignments.

“Hello, this is Lorenzo Basque, I can’t make it to my temp assignment today because I’m not feeling well.. Thank you!” I said on the phone.

The truth is, I really wasn’t feeling well. Not physically but mentally, I was tired as fuck! Stressed out as you may say. I checked my email and there was a reply from a recruiter who found my resume on LinkedIn. It was for an Office Assistant position for an architectural company down on Wall Street, the position was fulltime. Alas! They wanted to meet with me for an interview. So I replied right away and set up an appointment for tomorrow morning. Then, my cellphone started ringing. I didn’t recognize the number but I answered it anyhow. I was secretly hoping it was one of the new friends that I met on Craigslist.

“Hello?” I answered.
“Lorenzo?” She asked.
“Yeah, who is this?”
“It’s me Megan, from Strictly Platonic ad.. Listen, I really hate to bother you right now but I’m about to get an abortion and was wondering if you could walk me to the clinic and then walk me home… I’ll give you money and pay for your cab. I just don’t want to go there alone.”

It was a nice morning phone call but Megan’s explanation made me worried about her. Maybe because my own mother once tried to make a trip to see an abortionist but then changed her mind and decided to have me.

“Megan, you don’t need to pay me or anything.. Just tell me where to pick you up.” I replied.

I picked up Megan in front of the brownstone apartment building where she lives on West 83rd Street on the Upper West Side. She told me that she wanted to have a cup of tea first before heading to that clinic in Chelsea. So we decided to stop by a small diner on Columbus Avenue.

“So when did you find out that you were pregnant?” I asked.
“A week ago. It was one of my regulars who comes to the strip club. He told me he was gonna leave his wife and marry me, and give me a better life. Being a stupid girl, this is what I got!” Megan answered.
“Well, it’s the best way to learn right? I’m sure after this you’ll never believe all the shit that those guys tell you.”
“Thanks again for coming with me. I know it’s crazy because I just met you but the situation that I’m needed me to take a chance.”
“Hey no problem! We’re friends now, remember?”
“I know, thank you!”

I dropped off Megan at the clinic in Midtown East. She seemed a little nervous. I also promised to pick her up once the “procedure” is done. After I left her at the clinic, I have to face the reality that I need to find a fucking job. So I went to the public library in Lincoln Center and took my netbook with me. When I was about to enter the library, my phone rang again, I answered it and it was Candice.

“Hello?” I asked.
“Lorenzo, this is Candice! What are you doing for brunch?” She asked.
“It’s 10:30 in the morning..”
“I don’t care, I’m friends with the manager of this restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen and we could have breakfast and mimosas at the same time!”

I haven’t eaten yet during that time and I figured maybe Candice can loan me some money because I was also flat broke. So I agreed to have some drunken lunch with her. After all, it’s always fun to hang out with people who’s got money coming out of their asses.

As I walked in at the restaurant that Candice texted me, I noticed that she’s the only patron in there. Also note that it’s a weekday, most New Yorkers are stuck working like dogs. I sat down with her and noticed that she already gulped down a glass of bellini.

“Hi Lorenzo! Sorry I couldn’t wait to get drunk! Take the menu, and order yourself some nice breakfast and don’t forget to try their mimosa! They make the strongest ones!” She said.
“Thank you very much, I’m starving so I’m gonna order..”
“So where have you been?”
“Oh I was dropping off Megan at a clinic in Midtown East.”
“She’s having an abortion?”
“Ah, no, she-”
“Honey, it’s OK. You don’t have to cover it up.. I had an abortion there two years ago. And they’re one of the few clinics here in Manhattan that open up pretty early.”

The waiter comes over.

“What are you having Sir?” He asked.
“I will have the steak and scrambled eggs, and with a glass of mimosa.”
“Will that be all?”
“I need a refill love, another glass of bellini!” Candice ordered.
“I’ll be right back with your order.” The waiter politely replied.

For some reason, Candice noticed that my mind was somewhere else.

“What’s wrong sweetie?!” She asked.
“I’m just a little worried about not having a fulltime job!” I replied.
“Don’t you have a job right now?”
“I do, but it’s for a temp agency, I need something permanent.”
“Hmm.. Let me think, I think I may know some people at the Soho House, would you be interested?”
“Well yeah,”
“I tell you what, I’m gonna make some phone call after this and maybe they could get you started to work there next week?”
“Honey, My name is Candice Oxford, ask the bartender there who am I and then he’ll tell you four straight martinis, one Johnny Walker, and one Jack Daniel’s!”

I then started smiling at Candice realizing that I’m almost close to her drinking habits. The more brunches she and I had, she became my surrogate mother. I eventually found out that her own mother arranged her marriage when she was just seventeen to a millionaire lawyer who works with gold mines from around the world. She told me that she resented her mother at first but as she got older, she started to appreciate what she’s done to her. It wasn’t that she’s a gold digger, maybe her mother was, it was a tactic for survival. Considering the fact that her father left them before she was even born. She grew up dirt poor from Camden, New Jersey.

The waiter finally comes over with my order of steak and eggs and morning booze. I wolfed it down since I was hungry and haven’t had that kind of breakfast for quite some time. After I finished eating, I drank my glass of mimosa and looked outside. It started snowing, watching the snow fall felt therapeutic for me.

“Do you need any money? Candice asked me.
“Of course I do, I’m practically unemployed.” I replied.

Candice picked up her HERMES bag and took out a roll of one hundred dollar bills. I was very surprised how generous she was to me and started to think what could she be expecting from me in return.

“Here, take it.”
“Candice, I’m not really sure if-”
“If what?! You’re flat broke correct?”
“Yes, I just think that it’s a little too soon for you to loan me some money”
“Lorenzo, it’s not a loan! First seventeen years of my life was spent in a trailer park van. I had to eat oatmeal every night for dinner. Not to mention that I had to buy my dresses at Salvation Army because I couldn’t afford to go to Macy’s! So just take money before I change my mind!”

I took the roll of one hundred dollar bills. It was nine hundred dollars in total.

“Thank you, Candice. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome honey. Even if you didn’t ask, I knew you needed that money more than I do. Anyway, I have to go, I’m having another brunch with my husband at Le Cirque. I will see you soon.”

She kissed me on the forehead like I was twelve years old and left. I looked outside the window again and the snowfall got thicker. For some reason, I started to enjoy every winter in New York City. It’s like a mysterious lover that only becomes a serious affair for one season each year. If I didn’t tell myself that I’ve been lucky in my pursuit of survival in Manhattan, I’d be lying. Destiny and fate always protected me from failure despite all the obstacles and setbacks. Winter became my lover, it’s my lucky omen.

TO BE CONTINUED….
“Strictly Platonic”

February 5th, 2015

New York City. Population 8,336,697. Average monthly rent of a one bedroom apartment within Manhattan, $3129. Finding friendship within the city, priceless! I think one will never know the true meaning of friendship until all the lights around came crashing down. It certainly happened to me. Let me see, where should I start? Last year, I lost my job and then my apartment in Manhattan. When you take a closer look at it, it was pretty much a clusterfuck. Then I counted on the friends whom I thought were my friends and what happened next was, I think you already the answer. Another series of disappointments. As soon as 90 percent of my so called friends found out about my misfortune, they literally avoided me, some have deleted me on facebook, some have stopped responding to my text messages. I realized that deep within a metropolis island of 8 million people, the definition of true friendship can be unforgiving and nothing but a cold silence. Despite that, I still have friends who stuck by me and I feel grateful for that. But one Friday night, something unusual happened. In order to rescue myself from the boredom of Friday night, not to mention that my temp assignment at midtown office just ended unexpectedly. I tried to live by the motto that goes, I work to live, never live to work. So I went to Home Sweet Home, a bar/dance club in Lower East Side. The DJ started spinning dance tracks from the 60’s then mashing it up with today’s techno shit music, from The Beatles to LMFAO. I ran into a guy named Markus from Stockholm who works as a wine delivery guy in West Village and also happens to sell a variety of drugs. I mentioned to him that I never did mushrooms before, while me and Markus were talking about psychedelic mushrooms, a red headed girl dressed in skanky clothes, overheard us and offered me and him a bottle of vodka at her apartment on 2nd Avenue in exchange to partake in the mushroom session. Markus and I accepted her offer after she brought three tequila shots for us. Her name was Vicky, she works as a stripper at Cheetah’s gentlemen’s club in Midtown. She recently moved here from Colorado to become an actress on Broadway. And I think she’s not that far from her job as a stripper. After all, dancing around a silver pole in front of lonely men is also a form of art. So we went back to her apartment, a small yet modest studio apartment on 2nd Avenue and 10th Street. Markus took out his jar of mushrooms and Vicky immediately dove in. Then I took some and then Markus finished the rest of it, an average amount I would say. During the first hour, I immediately noticed that I was in a different dimension, a mix of head high and body high, We were all sitting by on the carpeted floor full of pillows. Then Vicky started freaking out, she first lashed out at me and Markus.

“Oh god, what’s happening?! You guys both are trying to fuck me!? Vicky said.

“What are you talking about? Markus and I are just having a good time here..” I said.

“Yeah, just try to enjoy the moment.” Markus said.

“You’re trying to fuck me too!” Vicky yelled at him.

“Well, if that’s okay, I do want to fuck you..” He replied.

“Shut the fuck up!” She screamed.

“Vicky calm down..” I said.

Vicky now looks totally high and paranoid.

“You are trying to fuck me too! Maybe I should call my friend Karen, oh no wait! I can’t go to her apartment because she will try to fuck me too! I am so fucked!”

While I was observing her behavior, I realized that she’s fuckin’ up the mushroom high that me and Markus are having so I decided to leave. I guess Markus was horny so he decided to stay and take all the paranoid bullshit that Vicky was saying to him.

“Are you sure you want to stay?” I asked.

“Yeah, she’s all alone and I don’t want to leave her.” He replied.

“You mean you want to fuck her?”

“No, it’s not like that. I want to stay because I want to make sure that she’s okay.”

“What’s happening?! What’s happening here?! I think I need to go to the hospital, I feel sick, no I can’t go there! They will all try to fuck me!” Vicky screamed again.

“She practically ruined my mushroom high and I don’t want to be here right now.” I said to Markus.

“I think I will just stay until she gets sober.” Markus answered.

“Well, I’m gonna go now, and thank you for the mushrooms!” I said.

I then left and realized that I have no couch to crash on! I left most of my stuff at a friend’s apartment in Long Island City, Queens and right now I don’t have a choice but to head back there and figure out where to crash next. So I hopped on the 7 train and got off on Queens Plaza stop. Judy allowed me to stay on her couch that early morning around 3 AM, I could tell she’s mad that I called her during that time to crash at her place.

The next day, I decided to take a walk in Soho, around Lafayette Street. I took a seat by the window at Starbucks on Astor Place. While I was checking my email on my BlackBerry, I found some replies from Craigslist. Then I asked myself, what the fuck did I just do last night?! As I opened the email, I found out that around 5 AM, I apparently placed an ad on the strictly platonic section of Craigslist. I sure don’t remember placing the ad, but I do remember getting home in Long Island City and pissing off my friend Judy and that’s about that. I obviously blacked out during the last hour of my mushroom high. According to the ad which I placed unconsciously, I was looking for friends here in New York City who aren’t afraid of being themselves when making new friends. I got three responses. One from an Upper East Side housewife in her mid-thirties named Candice Oxford, Darren Tillman, A Wall Street stockbroker from England in his late thirties, and Megan, a twenty one year old from Arizona who recently moved here in New York. They all agreed to meet me at the Grassroots Tavern at St. Mark’s Place. I was a little hesitant to meet them that day, but fuck it! I might as well enjoy the ride that I created myself. I was expecting a lot of crazy shit, like what if they’re not the people they described themselves to be. Or what if they’re a bunch of psychos?! Oh what the hell! I’ll be meeting all of them at a bar, it’s not like I’m meeting them at an isolated farm in Texas. I kept telling myself to relax that day, I will be meeting the three of my “new friends” around 7 PM.

I arrived at Grassroots Tavern around 6:30 PM and immediately sat down near the bar. Around 6:45 PM, I saw woman, wearing an expensive fur coat, her diamond earrings and necklace glitters on her neck and face. Her coiffed up blonde hair, meticulously styled by her hairdresser, and her face perfectly touched with fifth avenue cosmetics. She sat down next to me at the bar and I pretended that I don’t see her.

“Strictly Platonic?” She asked.

“Excuse me?” I replied.

“Are you here for the strictly platonic ad?”

“Oh yes, I’m Lorenzo by the way”

I got up from my chair and shook her hand. She gave me a firm handshake.

“I’m Candice, Candice Oxford!”

“Nice to meet you Candice!”

“Yeah, well to tell you the truth, I have no idea why I answered this stupid ad! I guess I just want to see what kind of freaks show up for things like this. And also the fact that I was high on Vicodin!”

I grinned a little bit.

“What’s so funny?” She asked with a serious face.

“Nothing, it’s kind of amusing because I was also high when I posted this ad on craigslist!”

“Really? On what?”

“Mushrooms”

Candice giggled.

“Do you have anything left?”

“Oh God no, I wish! But I had bittersweet high..”

“How so?”

“The first half an hour was great but one friend got paranoid and fucked it all up from me! She thought I wanted to fuck her… Which I found ridiculous because she’s not even my type!”

“Oh yeah? What is your type then?”

“I don’t know, someone like you maybe”

Candice laughed so hard and showed me her right hand with a solid gold wedding ring along with other diamond rings.

“Oh honey, I would love to fuck you but I’m already married, I wish some guy would be able to take my husband’s place but it seems impossible for everyone!”

This time I laughed my ass off at her.

“What makes it impossible?”

“Well, for starters, my husband gives me a million dollars in cash for my birthday each year and because of him I never have to work a single day in my life! Now do you really think that a peasant, I mean an average guy can do that?!”

I realized that she’s a woman who married for money if I’m not mistaken or stumbled upon a man who’s got a lot of money and needed a woman to help him spend it.

“I guess not every guy can do that but I sure know how to give you multiple orgasms!”

I started touching her legs and then some guy wearing a designer suit disrupted our conversation. He’s probably about in his late thirties, definitely a hedge fund dude.

“Behold! I’m Darren Tillman, I’m from England and I’m supposed to meet a bunch of bloody friends for a strictly platonic ad!”

I immediately noticed his cockney accent, he’s from London.

“Hi Darren, I’m Lorenzo and this is Candice.”

“A pleasure to meet you Lorenzo, and Candice, how much do you charge for an hour?”

“I beg your pardon?!” Candice retorted.

“For an hour of shag? How much?!”

Candice immediately slapped Darren. I stepped between their confrontation and tried to ease the tension.

“Guys please! Didn’t we come here because we all want to be friends? Come on now!” I said.

“Step back away from me Tillman! My husband is one of the beasts of Wall Street! Behave yourself or you’ll never work in this town again!” Candice yelled at Darren.

Darren stepped back from Candice and looked worried for a bit. A girl in her early twenties walked in the bar and immediately noticed us. She comes over and stares at the three of us.

“Oh great! An Addams family reunion…” She said.

“Strictly platonic?” I asked her.

“Yes, I’m Megan.” She answered.

“Nice to meet you Megan, welcome to the freak show!” Candice exclaimed.

I laughed again at the fucking situation. Darren shamelessly reached out to shake hands with Megan.

“Hello darling, I’m Darren, it’s lovely to meet you.” He said.

“Lovely to meet you too!”

“Tell me sweetheart, do you accept cash or credit?” He asked her.

Megan looked baffled.

“Darren, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” I asked him.

“What? It was a serious question.” He answered.

“Okay, I think I have the answer to your question… I accept credit cards for private shows.”

Darren started nodding his head, looking excited.

“And I don’t fuck for money, I only dance for it!”

Darren’s face then looked sad realizing that not even his money could get him to fuck her. Candice started laughing at him. For some strange reason, I realized that the company that I was in during that moment may not be perfect but one thing is for certain, I just got myself a group of interesting characters to hang out with!

TO BE CONTINUED…