Bushwick In Fiction

“Break The Fall” Part 2

February 16th, 2014

Hanna and I started dancing to “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers and she started screaming the lyrics on the dance floor. She obviously having a good time and also drunk as fuck. Some guy came over and try to dance with her but she immediately gave him the cold shoulders and backed away. She put her arms around me and continued to dance, my hands worked its way down the hips of her slender body. The DJ played “Love Will Tear Us Apart” by Joy Division. I looked at her face and finally realized how beautiful she was. Her silky dark hair, porcelain skin, and deep blue eyes. Silly me, I really wanted to make out with her but something stopped me. Not sure if I was acting like a fucking jerk or there’s more to it other than just sexual urges. I looked around the floor and everyone was gone. It was just me and her. I can’t explain the mixed signals that I got. It’s not sex appeal, not “slut appeal”. Then the music that the DJ was playing started to change, the song wasn’t in English anymore, it’s a classic German ballad, one of the first German ballads that I’ve heard – “Traume” by Francoise Hardy. Then all of a sudden, I felt Hanna’s fingertips touching my face. I then awoke from that euphoric trance. Back to reality. She continues to touch my sweaty face.

“Lorenzo! Are you okay?” Hanna asked.

I looked around and didn’t hear the German ballad song anymore. The DJ was playing “Call On Me” by Eric Prydz. I looked at Hanna again. She seemed worried.

“I’m fine. I am okay.” I replied to her.

She and I decided to leave that night. I started feeling sick to my stomach. It’s kind of weird because I don’t remember eating anything that night. Hanna literally took care of my drunken ass. She made sure that we didn’t get lost on our way back to the hostel. Good thing she remembered the trains that we took down to Union Square from Harlem. I didn’t sleep that night. Hanna’s face stayed in my head like a broken song. A beautiful broken song. I woke up at 6 AM in the morning. Hanna’s face is still engraved in my mind. I decided to write some poetry on the living room on the first floor of the hostel. Then I realized something. She’s camping in my head. Then I found myself listening to these fucking cheesy love songs : “Crazy For You” by Madonna, “She Will Be Loved” by Maroon 5, “If You Could Read My Mind” by Gordon Lightfoot, and “Your Song” by Elton John. These songs actually ended up as being my all time favorites even though I called it fucking cheesy. The next day, I met a charismatic boy named Yohan from Slovenia. He’s only 19 years old and was constantly asking me if there’s a bar or a club that I could take him because he’s under 21. He was desperately begging me to hook him up with fake ID or something. But the truth is, I really can’t do anything. It’s not like back in L.A. where you could always drive to downtown and get yourself a fake drivers license. I’ve noticed that he’s a little flirtatious and also sexually confused. I guess that’s pretty common when you’re 19. Okay, I think this short story is running a little slow. Let’s fast forward. During that day, I had a job interview for an Italian eatery in the Flat Iron District. At that time, I was unemployed so I still need to work my ass off to in order to survive. On my way out of the hostel , I run into Hanna who just came back with a Subway sandwich in her hand.

“Hey, how’s the goin’?” I asked.

“I’m good, what’s up?” She replied.

I sensed that she’s trying to avoid me. Though I’m not really sure why. I thought to myself that it can’t be the the fact that I got piss drunk last night. I didn’t hesitate to ask her out myself because I really felt like I need to.

“Hey, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night? I have a friend who gave me a dinner coupon to a five star Russian restaurant. We’re gonna have some nice caviar and vodka”.

She was silent for a minute before she answered my dinner proposal.

“Ah, sure.”

“Okay, sounds good. See you then”.

Hanna then proceeded to her dorm room upstairs, looking uncomfortable. I started asking myself, “Do I really look that scary?”. The following day, I got pretty excited of going out with her. Hanna is supposed to meet me in the living room area around 7:00 PM. The minute I sat down, it was about 6:45 PM, Noah, the front desk agent on duty, handed me a note.

I opened the note and it read:

Lorenzo,

I haven’t been feeling well lately. So I can’t go out with you tonight. No vodka, no caviar for me.

Sorry,

Hanna.

After reading her note, anger was the only emotion that I felt. I tore the note into pieces and went to the front desk. I asked Noah if he knows that she’s still in the hostel, he said she is. I checked the system to see which dorm room she’s in and I found out that she’s in the 4th floor, room 4E. I knocked on her door and she opened. She seems to be shocked that I was there.

“Lorenzo, hi!” She greeted.

“Hi?! What the fuck?! You and I are supposed to have caviar and vodka tonight!” I barked.

“I feel sick to my stomach, I feel like it’s jumping up and down”

“I don’t give a fuck! Do you realize what kind of trouble do I have to go through just to reserve us a table at that restaurant?! Now I have to cancel it!”

“I’m sorry…”

“What about tomorrow?!”

“Tomorrow is OK”

“Are you sure?!”

“Yes, I’m sure”

“OK, I’ll see you tomorrow in the hostel living room at around 8:30 PM?”

“Yes, that sounds perfect”

“Alright, I will see you tomorrow”

I then walked out of her dorm room and called one of my close friends, Sophia, who lives in Los Angeles. She’s one of my “artist friends”, she’s a photographer, because I don’t have too many. She moved to California from Palermo, Italy and the first time I met her was at a bar, I flirted with her because I thought she’s hot, and then she politely told me that she doesn’t like men and that she’s into women. So I smiled at her and realized that a man could never compete with a woman. Same with women, they could never compete with men, in this messy game of love. I told Sophia about about Hanna and she understood me completely. She was also in the same dimension where I am now and I’m glad she gave me one helpful advice – do not control your emotion when you’re in love, if you do, you will eventually lose your mind. At first I didn’t believe her but deep inside I knew she’s right. Sophia also told me that I don’t have the right to be angry because Hanna and I aren’t together at all. But one thing is certain, I’m crazy in love with the German creature from Munich. Her explanation calmed me down and I decided to go Lincoln Center. Whenever I feel sad or happy, I go to the water fountain and observe inner silence within myself. I stared at the water fountain and thought about my little life. I also realized that it was the first time that I fell in love with anyone. I tried to make logical sense of it but I couldn’t. It’s pretty clear that you lose your reasons when you’re in love. That same night I decided to throw a house party at the hostel. Those who were under 21 were pleased because every time I had a pub crawl, I don’t have a choice but to leave without them. This time, everyone is gonna party and everyone is gonna get fucked up. I held my party at the living room area of the hostel. Everyone was there, Yohan kept chatting me up and I was just playing it cool. I wish I could tell him that he’s sexually confused but I think fate would function better for him if I let time take its own coarse. Hanna was there too. But every time I looked at her, she would look into a different direction. I could tell that just my stare itself can make her uncomfortable in an instant. Everyone mingled with each other, I think awkward silences are bullshit. So I made the move. I was sitting down next to Yohan at that time and I asked him if he wanted to have a cigarette with me outside. He and I stood up and I saw an indescribable look on Hanna’s face. She looked pissed and also stood up from her chair. I used the acting skills that I learned at film school and pretended that she’s not there. As me and Yohan walked out to the patio of the hostel, Hanna followed us. I took out a box of cigarettes and me and Yohan started to smoke. Hanna stood in front of us, still looking pissed and also angry. She also took out her box of cigarettes and watched me like a hawk. Suddenly, I felt like I was being an asshole to her for no reason at all, so I instructed Yohan to meet me inside and approached Hanna.

“Hey, are you enjoying the party?” I asked and then puffed on my cigarette.

“Yeah, it’s good” She replied in a cold manner.

“Listen, I have something to tell you…”

“What is it?”

“It’s something personal, hope you don’t mind”

“Try me”

“I really like you, I like you more than I should. After you and I went out last Saturday night, you got stuck in my head. I’m sorry I’m in love with you.”

Hanna then looked down on the ground, she was trying compose herself after I dropped that anchor on her.

“I don’t feel the same”

“I’ve been trying to control my emotions about this… I cannot eat, I cannot sleep, you’re all I could think about and-”

“Stope talking, come here”

She opened her arms wide, I stepped closer to her and she embraced me. I was nervous as fuck.

“Let’s go back inside and have some more drinks.”

“OK”

I sensed that she’s taking cautious control of this. And I didn’t mind at all. I’m glad she did. The next night, we finally went to that Russian restaurant, Mari Vanna, on East 20th Street and Park Avenue South. I pulled up a chair for her and she sat down. The restaurant itself is a five star. Everything looked expensive, from the English China plates to the Dutch tulips. The waitress came over and handed us the menu. I asked Hanna what she would like, but she left that for me to decide. She could have anything she wanted. During that moment, all I wanted was to give her the entire Universe. She loved the restaurant and repeatedly thanked me. So I ordered us some black caviar and a variety of their house made vodka. When our food arrived, she insisted to the waitress to serve the food herself. It was a little weird but it made me feel fucking great. We talked about the characters that we ran into the hostel. She also told me that she’s meeting with her ex-boyfriend when she returns to Munich. I didn’t really care when she mentioned that to me. I was too busy appreciating the beauty of her soul, not just her physical appearance. We told each other stories that we don’t normally discuss with anyone. It was a beautiful moment and I lived it. I must say that it was the happiest moment of my life. Being with her. The next day, she was about to return to Europe.

“So this is goodbye..” I said.

“Yes, my friends in Munich are throwing me welcome back party upon my arrival” She replied.

“You’re a nice girl Hanna. I don’t meet a lot of nice girls like you.”

We said goodbye and embraced each other and soon as she walked out of the hostel’s main entrance. I felt like shit. I wanted to cry so hard but I repressed my emotions. I hopped on the subway and went back to the water fountain at Lincoln Center. I replayed every moment that I was with her but I was still fucking sad that she’s gone. For the next six months, I became more madly in love with her, that love was tagged with depression and suicidal thoughts. Whenever i worked at the front desk of the hostel, I would just tell almost every guest that I was with this girl. I emailed her to see if she would ever reply but she never did. Her absolute silence ruined me. I reached out to her several times. Still nothing. She eventually deleted me on Facebook and whenever I tried to email her again, but my email would get returned to me. I was blocked. The more she strays away, the more I wanted her. I was sleepless and couldn’t eat for days because I cannot stop thinking about her. Just to help me get through, I started writing poetry based on her and even wrote a stage play set in 1960’s New York based on that experience. Friends repeatedly told me to move on but it felt good to think about my memory of her.

For the next three years, she was the only one. My one true love. Now, I found it very hard to believe in love again. I have turned into a slutbag, a man whore, or whatever you call someone who goes around and just haves random sex with anyone with someone they’re attracted to. I could easily hook up with every girl or guy who expresses interest in me, but whenever I try to to want a relationship outside the bedroom, I have no fucking luck. I guess I can say that Hanna is reason for my non-stop, random one night stands. Although three years had passed, I cannot compare anyone to her. Whenever I’m in bed with someone, I still think about her. The good thing is, I’m not as crazy as I was when i was madly in love with her. I wished she responded to any of my emails when I was telling her that I was suicidal but she didn’t. If I was stupid, I could’ve jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge but I stopped myself. I controlled my emotions by creating fiction and poetry. Yes, I’m a hopeless romantic. Yes, I still believe in love despite that experience. Love has no explanations. You cannot question it when it happens to you. It is indeed very rebellious bird that cannot be tamed. Though I desperately try to stop sleeping around, there is no denial that Hanna’s silence turned me into an emotional wreck. She really fucked me up. Will there someone be out there willing to break my fall? Maybe yes, maybe not. I won’t hold my breath for it. I also found it hard to emotionally connect with almost anyone. I guess, process of unrequited love is finishing its final chapter on me. I really fucking hope so.
“Break The Fall” Part 1

January 22nd, 2014

Paris is always associated with romance. But what about New York? When one defines this city, it mostly sums up in these words – money, power, talent, ambition. I realized that Valentine’s day is coming up next month and I came up with an important question to myself: Where’s the love in this city?! Does romance even exist here in Manhattan? New York City is notorious for being unforgiving, tough, harsh, cold, and lacking in human compassion. But despite all these negative traits, during the autumn of September 2010, something strange happened to me. I fell in love. And yes, it happened here in New York.
But not everyone who falls in love had a good experience with it. I was not so lucky. The girl I fell in love with, Hanna – a German tourist who’s been travelling the world for the past eight months, it wasn’t necessarily love at first sight when I met her. It took me a few minutes to notice the intentions behind her smile. At that time, I was still settling myself here in Manhattan and I was broke as fuck. So when she asked me if I wanted to have a drink with her at a bar, I immediately jumped in (thinking that she’ll be paying for my booze at the bar). I also happen to know where to take her. At around midnight, I finished my shift at the hostel and then I saw Hanna sitting across the room, smiling at me. Her smile is reminiscent of a Valkyrie, it captivates me from a distance. She slowly walks toward me.

“Are you done yet?” She asked.

“Yes, just give me five minutes.” I replied.

I finished off the auditing and cash out.

“So where are we going?” Hanna asked.

“We are going first to The Belfry Bar and then to a dance club called The Beauty Bar.” I responded.

“Sehr geil!” She responded.

Back then, I did not understand what she said. But I know for sure that she spoke to me in German. I also know that she’s already a little drunk because I can smell the alcohol from her breath.

“What does that mean?”

Hanna laughed at me.

“I’m sorry, I’m a little drunk. It means “so cool” in German.

“Aha, thanks for teaching me… I hope you can teach me other things aside from that!”

We both laughed at the same time after my lewd joke. I still remember the blue silk dress that she was wearing. We took the #2 train from the 125th Street station and then transferred to the N train on Times Square station heading to Union Square. As Hanna and I got off the 14th Street station, we started walking towards 3rd Avenue. I wanted to take her first at The Belfry bar. When she and I arrived at the Belfry, it was too crowded and nowhere to sit or stand to consume your drinks. So we crossed the street and went to the Beauty Bar discotheque. As we walked inside, the bartender whom I don’t remember, immediately recognized me.

“Where have you been? Did you hide all summer? The bartender asked me.

“I guess so.” I responded, pretty much just bullshitting her.

I asked Hanna what she wanted to drink. And I also noticed that all the guys are checking her out, a German beauty like her isn’t a familiar site in here in New York City. I ordered us two screwdrivers and two tequila shots.

“No beer?” She asked.

“Nope, not tonight!” I responded.

“I’m German and to me beer is like water.”

“Sorry, do you want me to take it back and exchange for a beer?”

“No, that’s fine. We’re both getting drunk tonight anyway”.

“So you said that you’ve been travelling around the world for eight months now?”

“That’s right!”

“What is it like, it must be really nice to be able to afford it.”

“Yeah, but to tell you the truth, I travel because I want to forget my problems.”

“That sounds fair, whenever I have problems, I write.”

Hanna takes a sip from her drink.

“What do you write?”

“Fiction, poetry. It really depends on my mood. I write mostly just to make my depression more bearable. Sorry to depress you…”

“You don’t depress me, don’t worry.”

“I got us some tequila shots! Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

We cheered and downed our shots. I immediately noticed Hanna’s deep blue eyes despite the fact that it’s dark inside the club. The DJ played The Killers’ song, “Mr. Brightside”. Hanna and I hurriedly sipped our screwdrivers, kind of life we’re thinking the same that we should finish our drinks so that we could dance to this guilty-pleasure track. Hanna looks like she wanted to say something but she’s restraining her own emotions.

“You know something?” I asked Hanna.

“What is it?” She asked back.

“My entire life, I never saw my own mother and father in the same room. I feel like it’s my fault, like I did something and it reached a point where they don’t want to see each other.”

“It’s not your fault. You want to hear my story? My father recently committed suicide because my mother left him for another man. He left me his money and I used that to travel the world. I just travel to forget my problems.”

I looked at Hanna with sympathy and she did the same.

“I’m glad we both have fucked up lives” I said with a smile in my face. Hanna smiled at me.

“Come on, let’s dance.” I said.

We both got up from our seats and headed towards the dance floor.

TO BE CONTINUED…
“Overload”

January 11th, 2014

"Overload".
“Looking Back”

December 30th, 2013

My name is Lorenzo Basque. I’m a dreamer and a hedonist. Three years ago when I first arrived here in Manhattan, I have less than $100 on my pocket. Most people thought that it was a crazy move but I don’t really care what the world thinks of me, what matters most is what I think of myself. I acted based on my instincts and spur of the moment. I lived and worked on a rat infested hostel on 128th Street and Lenox Avenue because didn’t have any money to pay for rent. I hopped from one low paying job to another. I remember it so vividly, when I took the job at a sandwich shop on Wall Street earning $7.25 an hour and then at a wine cellar in West Village where I made $9.00 an hour. And every time my money would run out, I would go to Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s and eat their food samples just to get by. I also remember sitting down by the water fountain at Lincoln Center and pondered to myself if my broke ass life would ever change and repeatedly questioned myself if my sufferings would ever go away. But today, these phases of my life is a far memory, gone but not forgotten. I recently got a book deal from Harper Collins Publishing and received an advance of $250,000 plus 50/50 share on sales profits. Until now, I’m still in disbelief that my life has been altered by success and luck(I gotta be honest, I was lucky enough to achieve my dreams of being a professional writer). I also left my job at the advertising agency in Midtown. Most people that I worked with at that place are happy and sad for me at the same time. I am beyond glad that I broke out of the 9 to 5 work pattern. I cannot describe the mix of emotions. I decided to celebrate the fulfillment of my writing ambition by throwing a party at my new one bedroom apartment in East Village. The modest building is located on East 17th Street and Broadway, close to Union Square which is pretty nice. I invited all my friends from the past and the present. Most importantly, I looked forward to see Vikki Neumann. She’s an orphan from Berlin whom I met back at the hostel. If some people are blessed with good looks, she’s definitely one of them. She’s half Persian and half German. Her olive skin, jet black straight hair, towering height, and well-toned slender body enabled her to book a modeling job at one of the modeling agencies here in the city. Our last conversation wasn’t so pleasant. We argued about something that I can’t even remember what it was and haven’t seen each other for almost six months. So when she agreed to come to my party, I was pretty pleased. I also invited Jacob and Marco, and Sonia Groff, my first literary agent. I met Sonia at PJ Clarke’s in Upper West Side while I was finishing my last glass of martini. In this business of publishing where everything is going digital in full swing, it’s highly important to have a good agent. Sonia and I have also discussed about hiring a good lawyer to represent me in the Entertainment Industry, someone who can secure deals with movie studios and television networks. I never thought that learning about the business aspect of writing would be this interesting. It reminds me a lot about Hollywood where I used to work as a media librarian in post production houses and watched the film editors work on raw footages of the films produced at Warner Brothers and Paramount. After all, I’m a film school graduate where I aspired to be a filmmaker and then eventually settled on my writing endeavor.

Being in a equilibrium of my first big break, feels kind of weird in some way. Friends who used to ignore my text messages became active friends with me again, relatives and family members who didn’t reply to my emails, all of a sudden, wants to be part of my life again. All the lovers also wanted to return to bed with me as well, success indeed is an aphrodisiac! And I was like, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”. I’ve seen this situation play over and over again in movies and books. And FYI, I’m not that stupid. I just think it’s fucking ridiculous. But I just played along, nothing is more interesting that observing the roller coaster changes of human interaction.

It was 9 pm and everybody started showing up. One of my close friends, Alejandro, whom I also met from the hostel showed up first with Stacy. He was from Barcelona and Stacy is from Alabama. I introduced them together and little did I know, sparks flew between them and they ended up getting married. I was the bestman at their wedding. It was pretty clear that Alejandro wanted to stay here in New York and wanted a green card. I think I was the one who suggested it to him, because it’s the fastest way to be a legal US resident. They brought a bottle of KETEL ONE vodka, which is pretty fucking sweet. Alejandro immediately asked where’s the kitchen because he wanted to have drink. We went to my kitchen and opened the bottle of vodka. Stacy decided to hang out in the living room.

“Your apartment is really nice, congratulations!” Alejandro said to me.

“Thanks man, I’m still feeling a little weird about all this” I replied.

“Why is that?”

“Because, three years ago I was working on shit jobs and we ate ramen for months”

“Haha! I also remember that! Those times are now gone, Lorenzo”

“I know. But I also feel very thankful because I was able to create a life of my own. I know a lot of people around the world don’t even have the freedom to pursue their dreams and perhaps can’t even try. So I’m still thankful. How are things between you and Stacy?”

“You don’t want to know”

“Why? What’s going on, three years ago you two are so into each other, I think. Or maybe I was wrong?”

“It was fun for a while, but she’s fucking psycho! I recently discovered that she has an eating disorder, she’s bulimic.”

“Holy shit! Are you serious?”

“I’m very serious, sometimes I kind of regret marrying her”

“Don’t say that, if you didn’t marry her you wouldn’t be able to stay here in New York!”

“This is all your fault!”

I almost choked while drinking my vodka when Alejandro said that to me.

“How the fuck is it my fault?!” I exploded.

“This marriage was your idea” he replied.

“Fuck you dude! You’re the one who decided to stick your cock in her vagina, not me!”

“I’m sorry I said that, I’m just fucking stressed of being married”

“Don’t mention it, just be thankful you gotta a green card now. A million people from around the world would kill for one. Cheers!”

Alejandro smiled and we cheered. I heard my door bell rang. I opened the door and it was Jacob and Marco. Jacob brought a bottle of German schnapps.

“Congratulations, Mr. Writer!” Jacob said.

“Danke!” I responded.

“Now that you’re a writer, have you decided to change certain habits?” Marco asked me.

“No, not really. I mean, I longer live in a shit neighborhood.. I can now afford to rent this modest apartment, so that’s a change.”

“Hey, I brought some coke, make sure you don’t spill it on the couch!” Jacob joked at me.

“Fuck off, haha! Don’t remind me dude!” I replied.

Someone was at the door again, when I opened it, it was a familiar face. It was Vikki. She smiled at me and gave her a hug. She was accompanied by a decent looking guy. He looks like a model, one of those billboard guys on Times Square.

“How are you?” Vikki asked me

“I’m doing great!” I replied.

“That’s pretty obvious! By the way, this is my friend Konrad, he’s also from Germany. We met at the modeling agency”.

“Hi, nice to meet you Lorenzo! Vikki told me a lot of things about you” Konrad greeted.

He shook my hands and seems very excited in meeting me.

“Likewise” I said.

“Vikki also told me that you are writer..”

“Yes, I am. But I’m not broke, which is a good thing”

“A real writer, that’s very nice.”

“Yeah”

“What stories do you write about?” Konrad asked.

“It depends on my mood, it could be drama, romance, or horror” I responded.

“That’s very cool!”

I still did not get why this guy got so excited in asking things about me. I have noticed that he stopped paying attention to my friend Vikki, and literally stopped looking at her. Vikki doesn’t look too happy and felt out of place. I also sense that the elusive sexual tension between me and her boy toy is starting to piss her off. She would give me the look of death and then would look back at Konrad, expecting any sort of attention from either me or Konrad. I thought I could ease the awkward situation by finally becoming an ideal party host.

“Excuse me for a minute, Let me go to the living room to play some music”

Konrad seems to be disappointed that I was about to abandon him with Vikki.

“Oh, sure. We will talk again later”

“Absolutely!”

I walked away from them and saw all the people who entered my life congregating in my living room. I noticed that they set up all the drinks and drugs on the glass table. I smiled when I saw it. I’m also glad that all my friends both old and new adjusted well to each other. These friends are my family. Not having seen my own mother and father in the same room, because they separated before I was born, I found myself wanting unconditional love and acceptance from every friendship that I made.

“Here’s the fucking man of the hour!” Jacob shouted.

I could tell that Jacob is already high. His pupils are dilated. and he looked ridiculous in a good way. I looked at all my friends and felt thankful that I met them.

“I’ll try not to say something cheesy, but I want all you fuckers to have a toast with me!” I said.

They all poured drinks on their glasses and raised it. Alright, maybe it is fucking cheesy.

“To a room full of people that I love, I respect, and most of all, I want to smack the shit out of..”

They all bursted into laughter after my sarcastic remark.

“But seriously, thanks for being a part of my sweet fucking life! Cheers!”

We all cheered and I turned up the music on my macbook attached to a BOSE speaker. I started playing a remixed version of “I FOLLOW RIVERS” by LYKKE LI, followed by DAVID GUETTA’S “TITANIUM” and all time favorite of mine “LOVE WILL TEAR US APART” by JOY DIVISION. Everyone was having a good time and I’m glad they do. I saw Vikki scolding Konrad. And Konrad was looking back at me. He walked away from her and came towards me. Vikki looked more upset and left my party.

“What happened to Vikki?” I asked Konrad.

“She was being a bitch, so she left. Now I can have you for myself.” He replied.

I laughed it off and pretended that it’s a joke.

“Aren’t you guys dating?!”

“Yeah, for over a month now and I can’t stand her being possessive all the time!”

“Sorry, to hear that. I should probably text her to come back here”

“No, Lorenzo don’t do it. She left because she was jealous. Do you mind if i spend the night here?”

“Ah, I’m not sure.. Wir Werden Sehen”

He gave me a broken smile, trying to conceal his frustration to my answer.

“You speak German?”

“Very little, unfortunately. I believe that I was German from a previous life”

“Really?”

“Yes, definitely. Come on, let’s see what the others are up to”

We went back to my living room area and found everyone having a good time beyond the limits. Marco, Stacy, and Alejandro are smoking and passing around a spliff. And Jacob of course, is snorting cocaine on my glass table. My agent, Sonia Groff, arrived.

“Lorenzo! Where are you?!” Sonia yelled.

“In here!” I responded.

“I brought you a present!”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“I found us a good lawyer. He represented Dan Brown and Anne Rice in Los Angeles in turning their books into films. And I have a feeling that he’ll bring us the same success. Who is this good looking guy next to you?”

“Oh, this is Konrad.”

“Hi! I’m Sonia, nice to meet you!” Sonia said and flirting at the same time.

“Likewise, Lorenzo, can I talk to you in private?”

“Sure, Sonia excuse us”

“Not a problem” she said.

Konrad grabbed my hand and led me towards the bathroom. When we got into the bathroom, he took out a tiny bottle of cocaine.

“Dude, if you want some coke, there’s plenty outside”

“That’s not the reason why I took you here”

He placed his hand on my shoulder and I must admit that it didn’t feel comfortable. Nothing against him but it just didn’t feel right.

“I think we should go back outside, I don’t want my friends to think that I abandoned them completely. “

I got out of the bathroom and walked back to the living room area. I looked at my friends from the past, and I remembered that most of them are the ones who helped me when I was broke. Looking back, I felt grateful that I ran into these people. I saw Sonia making out with my friend Jacob while Marco is fucking stoned that he doesn’t care anymore what’s going on. My playlist of techno music continues to play. At around 4:30 AM everyone left, I started cleaning up the table and then I heard someone knocking on my door. I opened it and it was Konrad.

“Konrad, what are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

“Dude, I already said no”

“That’s not the reason why I came back, Vikki just broke up with me. I just want to come in and talk, that’s all.”

So I opened the door and let him in.

TO BE CONTINUED….
“Dark To Light”

December 21st, 2013

The year 2013 is coming to an end. I’m twenty nine years old and I haven’t done anything substantial with my fucking life. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that I work a fulltime job here in New York City which allows me to have a roof above my head, food on my table, and most importantly, affords me to get drunk and party my ass off during the weekends or whenever I’m not working on my office job. I work as an Office Manager for an advertising agency located in midtown, on 43rd Street and Sixth Avenue. Though the title of my job sounds like managing something or someone, the definition doesn’t fall into management at all. I’m pretty much like a wet nurse for corporate executives who aren’t capable of doing menial work in the office. Most of the people I work with are nice to me and I like spending eight hours a day with them, makes the office cubicle torture tolerable. The salary is decent, not middle class, I would categorize it as something like lower middle class. In a major American city, when you earn at least $40,000 a year, you’re considered middle class. I obviously earn less than that but I’m grateful anyhow. Like they said, count your blessings if you want to get more. But sometimes, I gotta be honest with myself, I’m not doing something that I want. I want to write for a living. I want to be able to support myself in writing alone. But I still need to face reality at the same time. An artist needs to survive, an artist needs a day job. So here I am, working on a day job for survival. I know for a fact that this is only temporary and I know that eventually, I will earn money by writing alone. It just hasn’t happened to me yet. It’s hard to avoid being impatient sometimes, I already finished my first novel, about a bipolar priest here in New York, who switches into a different personality at night, resorting to drugs and prostitutes. I’ve thought of turning this into a series novel, but I have to secure a readers arena for it first. And when possible, I hope that it would be the adult version of Harry Potter books. The only difference is, the priest isn’t dealing with magic, he’s dealing with realities of life. The titles of the novel is “Divine Illusions”. I sent the manuscript to almost every major publishing house here in the city, and I got nothing but rejection letters. When you’re a creative artist, it’s pretty damn hard not to take the rejection of your work personally. You gotta try pretty goddamn hard not to dwell on it. I know it’s easier to say this, and harder to apply upon one’s self. Saturday night arrived and I immediately gathered my friends to get hammered in Greenwich Village area. I found this bar on 14th Street and 8th Avenue – Wood & Ales. The bar itself is reminiscent of the midwest. The interior is mostly made of wood, the male and female bartenders are friendly as well as the crowd. I’m always the first one to arrive amongst my friends and I don’t really mind. I could always use some “me” time. So I ordered myself a bottle of Stella Artois and started drinking it. Five minutes later, I got a text message from both of my friends telling me that they can’t make it: Jacob and Marco. They’re both foreign exchange students from Germany. They’re getting their MBA’s at NYU – Stern School of Business. I met them at a loft party in Soho, they actually found me snorting on a line of cocaine and asked me if I have any roll paper because they’re trying to make a spliff. I told them I didn’t have any and offered the cocaine instead. Since then, we became immediate friends. So ordered myself more booze and the thought of my novel’s rejection kept playing inside my head like a fucked up melody. It’s 4 AM, and everyone already left the bar except me. Still sitting there like a fucking loser. For some reason during that Kodak moment, I cannot help thinking to myself that I’m twenty nine years old and it feels like life is passing me by. My writing ambition feels like it’s slipping away. Will I ever break free from a 9 to 5 job? Will my paycheck to paycheck way of life ever change? I started to feel like shit. I tried to order one last drink from the bartender named Paul.

“You had too many drinks, Lorenzo”

“Too many? How did you know my name?”

Paul laughed at me.

“You introduced yourself to me earlier when you ordered the glass of Maker’s Mark”.

He was looking and smiling at me at the same time with desire in his eyes. I knew he was gay. I’m also getting signals that he’s pretty horny for the after hours. He’s a good looking guy, grey blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. He reminded me a lot of James Dean. Me on the other hand, was not feeling anything. I guess I was too depressed.

“I’m sorry I did not remember that” I said.

“That’s okay, I just can’t serve you any more drinks here” Paul replied.

“That’s fine, I need to catch the subway to Harlem anyway”.

I stood up from my chair and barely managed to stand on my own.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go home alone in this condition”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“If you want, I can fix you a screw driver in my apartment. It’s just a couple of blocks from here”

I smiled at him and almost laughed actually.

“That’s very cool but I think I’m gonna go home”.

He looked very sad after I turned him down. I’m not the kind of guy who normally turns down an offer of alcohol and maybe a happy ending but at that time, I was just not in the mood. So I walked out of the bar and headed towards the subway station, on 14th Street. I walked down the stairs and saw that the station is pretty empty. There are two gentlemen on the left side of the platform, on the right side, there’s one guy standing staring down at the train tracks. I was walking towards the right side of the platform, the gentleman there, about six foot tall, stocky built, White, he’s around my age, was also walking towards me , I got the notion that he was about to ask me a question. I was already drunk as fuck but I was still aware of what was going in. All of a sudden, he walked vigorously towards me. I was looking down while walking.
“Hey Bro!” Was the two words that I heard from him and when I looked up, he pushed me really hard towards the tracks and I almost fell. I held on the post and that literally saved me from falling. I saw the #2 subway train coming and I pulled myself forward back on the platform until I balanced myself. The train missed me by about three inches. When the train stopped, something told me to stay. So the train closed its doors and left. I stayed, still in shock, feeling strange, I did not feel scared or nervous. Just one simple question inside my head: “Why?”. A couple of gentlemen came over and asked me if I was okay, they urged me to call the police. I looked at the corner and saw the “psycho subway pusher” was talking to himself. I realized that he has no fucking clue of what he just did. At first, I hesitated to call the police but then I thought to myself that If I let him walk away, he would do the same thing to other people. I called 911 and the NYPD responded after about 25 minutes. When the cops arrived, the “subway pusher” tried to run away but he was still caught. I decided not to take the subway after that. I walked upstairs the subway station and hailed myself a cab and took off. Then I started thinking about “What if I fell on the tracks and got hit by the train?” Would I have died happy? Certainly not because I was already feeling like shit. Still feeling strange and weird, I realize how lucky I was. The next day, I stayed in and did not go out at all. If that made me paranoid or a coward, fuck it! I just didn’t want to be around people. Although I’m still feeling strange from the “subway experience”. I watched Netflix all day from my laptop and then Monday came. Back to the 9 to 5 grind. I came to work with no smile on my face, tried to avoid any eye contact with anyone in the office. They all seemed to be concerned, and repeatedly asked me if I was OK and I said yes, because I’ve been quiet all morning. I didn’t tell anyone because I’m also feeling pissed. I wish I had a knife with me or something and defended myself. All of a sudden my cellphone started ringing, I didn’t recognize the number but I answered it anyhow.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Lorenzo Basque?” The female caller asked me.

“Yeah, who is this?” I replied.

“This is Julie Goldsmith from Harper Collins Publishing, we have received the copy of your manuscript, DIVINE ILLUSIONS.”

My mood started to change after I heard that she’s calling from a publishing house. I’m still in disbelief that I got a phone call from them. It didn’t feel real and I started to wonder if someone is playing a prank on me. I was silent for a minute.

“Lorenzo? Are you still there?”

“Listen, if this is some kind of fucking prank, I don’t find this funny!”

“This isn’t a prank, Lorenzo. We’re calling you because we would like to discuss the possibility of publishing your novel.”

“OK”

“Is your email on the manuscript still valid?”

“Yes, it is”

“I’ll be sending you our office address along with the time and date. Can you come in this Friday at 10:30 AM?”

“Yes”

“Perfect! I’ll need you to respond to the email that I’ll be sending you. Confirm the date and time of your appointment with us this Friday and then we’re all set.”

“OK, I’ll do that.”

“See you this Friday.”

“Yes, thank you. Bye”.

I walked straight to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. Then I started to laugh and cry at the same time. Just like a deranged artist, I was trying to calm myself. Because what was happening was surreal. I found it very difficult to distinguish reality from fantasy. After I calmed down, I wiped the tears off my face with my palms and smiled at my own reflection.

TO BE CONTINUED….
“Illusions”

October 24th, 2013

New York is a real city. But sometimes, the situations, people, and things that I encounter appear to be an illusion. I’m not even sure anymore if I still believe in love. Sex is easy in Manhattan but try your shot in finding “real love” and you will notice that the music stops. It only reminds me of the last person and probably the only one that I truly loved – Hanna, my German fascination from Munich.

Last week, I moved to a new place in Harlem. The previous studio apartment that I had in Upper West Side got so expensive that I was forced to cut back on my monthly rent. So decided to rent a room instead, in the gentrified area of West Harlem. The room is spacious and has a walk in closet. It’s a 4 bedroom apartment on 149th street and Broadway. Rent is $700 a month. For the type of income that I have working as an Office Assistant, it’s an ideal price. I rarely see my three other roommates. We all work different shifts and whenever I’m home, nobody’s around and when they’re home, I’m not around, so it all works out for the best. I went through a bout of depression again last Friday night, and I figured I could pretend to be an alcoholic for a night or two. So I hopped on the subway at the 145th Street station. I got on the 1 train heading down to Times Square and then transferred to the N train and got off at Union Square. I then headed to the Key Bar on East 13th Street and 1st Avenue in East Village. I stepped inside and saw four or five people inside. I sat down by the bar and ordered myself a glass of Maker’s Mark. They were playing a song by U2 , “With or Without You”.

The song only reminded me of Hanna. But I blocked it out by by finishing my drink in one shot. Then I ordered another glass of Maker’s Mark. Then there’s a blonde guy who walked in of the bar and his friend, a pretty girl with deep green eyes and dark hair. The blonde guy saw me looking at his friend so I looked in a different direction. Just by looking at them, I can tell they’re not fucking. So I started staring at the girl, she glanced back at me. And I also recently noticed that both of them are now staring at me. It made me feel uncomfortable. So I pretended to be walking to the bathroom, with my hand in my pocket.The girl then called me out.

“Excuse me,”
“Yes?”

I walked closer to her and stared at her eyes.

“My friend here thinks that you’re cute”
“Oh really? Because I think that you’re cute as well”

She smiled back at me. Her friend started smiling at me too.

“I’m Jack”
“I’m Lorenzo”
“Hey, you guys haven’t forgotten about me have you?”

Me and Jack laughed at her.

“So what is your name?”
“It’s Stella”
“Nice to meet you Stella, I’m Lorenzo!”

Stella then grabbed me by the neck and kissed me full on the lips. Then Jack did the same. I haven’t declared my sexuality in that moment. But it didn’t feel wrong or confusing. I mean, they were both decent looking.. But it doesn’t mean that I’m going for a tag team in the long run.

After a few more shots of whiskey, and a cans of PBR, we decided to leave the bar and find a place where we could actually chill. Jack mentioned that he has an apartment on Avenue A, which is nearby. So we walked to his apartment,on the second floor an old brownstone building that smelled like piss. As we arrived in Jack’s apartment, he immediately sat us down in the living room and went to his room and came back out with a small ziploc bag of cocaine. Stella started holding my hand. I looked at her and she seemed a little nervous. Jack started doing lines of coke on the table, he made three decent lines using his AMEX card.

“Lorenzo! You do the first line.” Jack ordered.
“Why me? It’s your coke, therefore you should be the first.” I responded.
“Okay, both of you are being pussies right now!” Stella barked. She grabbed the AMEX card from Jack, shaped her lines and snorted it. She then gave it to Jack and he followed. Then there’s me, about to snort cocaine for the first time in six months. And I did. Jack decided to put on some music, he played mostly 90’s tracks: 4 NON BLONDES, NIRVANA, NEW RADICALS, OASIS, and FATBOY SLIM. After we finished snorting all the coke, Stella stood up from the couch and slowly walked towards the bedroom. Me and Jack were looking at her like panting puppies. So we both stood up as well as followed her into the bedroom. And then I thought to myself, this doesn’t happen everyday, this is just a moment. An illusion. Why not enjoy it while I can?

After I left Jack’s apartment around 2 AM, I walked around Union Square Park, sat down down on the square next to the protesters who almost lives in that spot. Then I looked at the running numbers on top of the building across from the park. Took out my Marlboro red cigarette and smoked it. I puffed on my cigarette as I looked up the running numbers, until now not too many New Yorkers really know what those numbers are for. When I googled it, I found out that it’s actually an art wall. It’s a digital clock called the Metronome. It has fifteen digits. The first four digits indicates the actual time.The rest of the numbers are constantly running and blurring numbers. Remaining minutes and seconds. If life is fast as the Metronome, how many illusions are in there? Will I able to live it all? In a way I’m glad that I went home with Stella and Jack, I lived in that moment. I was also aware that it was an illusion and it was up to me to take it or leave it. And leaving something where I could see myself enjoying life, is the last thing that I want to do.
“Isabelle”

March 20th, 2013

It was almost midnight and I cannot sleep. I don’t normally like to go out on a Monday night but this time, being stuck in an Upper West Side studio apartment isn’t an option. The building that I live in is located on the corner of West 87th Street and Amsterdam Avenue. It maybe a decent neighborhood here in Manhattan but sometimes I can’t help to notice the “fuck ups” of society going into my neighborhood asking residents for money and just turning the area into shit. I have nothing against bums and homeless people.. I just wish that they would make some form of effort to turn their lives around. I know it’s not easy, but in this time that we live in, nothing is easy anymore.. You gotta go out there and make things happen for yourself. Good things no longer come to those who wait.

I stepped out of my apartment and headed to the Dead Poet Bar on Amsterdam Avenue. This is one of my favorite watering holes, most liquor drinks that they have are named after the late luminaries of the literary world and as a poet myself, I immediately liked this bar. I went in there and ordered my usual drink, the dead poet’s cocktail, it’s a mix of eight different liquors and fruit juice served in a glass mug. As I started to sip on my drink, I noticed a pretty young woman, sitting beside me, smelling her glass of red wine.

“What’s wrong with your wine?” I asked.
“Nothing, it’s just doesn’t smell like it’s from California” she replied.
“I’m from California, let me have a sip and I could tell”

She gladly handed over her drink and I took a sip.

“Well?” She asked me again.
“It’s from California, but from a low-grade winery” I replied back.
“Are you a Sommelier?
“No, I learned more about wine when I first moved here in New York I worked at a wine cellar in West Village. That’s how I learned more about wines. Kind of ironic that I never learned that in California.”

She was looking at me in a seductive but subtle way. Then I finally decided to ask her name whether it’s fake or real.

“So what’s your name?”
“It’s Isabelle, and yours?”
“Lorenzo”
“Is that your real name?”

I grinned a little bit.

“Yeah, why?”
“It just sounds so made up”
“Well, so does Isabella”
“It’s Isabelle! Double L with an E”
“Hey, I was close. Cheers!”
“Cheers!”

I raised my drink and cheered with Isabelle. After a few drinks, we finally became comfortable with each other.

“Are you gay?” Isabelle asked.
“Sure, I’m so gay that I wanna fuck you at the bathroom of this bar!” I said.

Isabelle didn’t laugh or smile at me this time. She was looking straight into my eyes. She almost scared the shit out of me and I didn’t know what the fuck to say. Then I started to think on what should I say next. I realize that I should probably say sorry or something.

“I’m sorry, did I say-”
“Fuck me in the bathroom!” She bluntly said. Isabelle then stood up from her seat and reached out underneath her skirt and took off her underwear and gave it to me.

“Keep that in your pocket, I will need it back after we do it” She said.

I politely kept her Victoria’s Secret underwear in my pocket. Isabelle then proceeded to the bathroom where I slowly followed her. She went inside the tiny bathroom first and then I joined her. I closed and locked the door. She started taking off my belt and pants and went down on me. She never lost her head even when she’s giving head! When she realized that I was hard, she smiled, took a Trojan condom out from her purse and gave it to me.

“Don’t be silly, put a rubber on your willy!” She said.
“I always do!” I replied with a smile up to my ears.

So I wrapped myself with it and fucked her. She was a good lay I have to say. We slowly walked out of the bar and headed for the 79th Street subway station on Broadway. As Isabelle and I are on our way to the subway, she decided to have some coffee. So we went to French Roast, a 24-hour coffee shop for insomniacs. We came in there and sat down on one of their tiny tables.

“Thanks for coming here to have coffee with me” She said.
“Thanks for making me cum” I replied.

She then laughed at me and I laughed back at her.

“You know, I’m beginning to think that I like you”
“Please stop bullshitting me”
“No, I’m serious! Why? Am I not attractive enough for you?”
“I didn’t say that. I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t feel a connection”
“That’s good to know”
“Are you trying to make sure that there aren’t any strings attached?”
“Pretty much, I’m just trying to avoid this kind of thing as much as I could”
“I like how you think! But at the same time, I think you’re scared of something”
“Oh really? What am I afraid of?”

I looked deeply into her eyes.

“I think you’re an extremely hurt person, someone took you for granted and you almost died. You are scared of getting close to anyone because you’re scared that they will fuck you up.”
“Wow, you see a lot Lorenzo. Do you know what I saw about you earlier?”
“What is it?” I nervously asked.

“I think you’re no different than me. You’re as damaged as I am. Like attracts like.”
“I actually have the ability to love someone”

Isabelle laughed like a hyena and I was thinking to myself how I wanna smack the shit out of her.

“Oh come on! Everytime you try to live like a normal person, you always end up shitting all over it! Why don’t you just stop trying to be like someone else and become more of yourself instead?!”
“I’m wondering which guy here in New York hasn’t fucked you yet!”
“All of them already did.”
“I love the fact that you’re a slut.”

She blew me and kiss and smiled. I smiled back.

The waitress finally took our orders. Isabelle had a hazelnut cream coffee while I had a green tea. We finished our teas and stepped out of the coffee shop.

“I really had a good time with you” I said.
“So do I, and in order not to spoil this memory, let’s end it right here” She replied.
“Excuse me?”
“Lorenzo, you’re great guy and I did enjoy your company. We both had our good times, and let’s end it right here”.
“No, I really enjoyed talking to you and-”
“And you think that this is going somewhere?!”
“Why not? We could be fuck buddies you know?! No strings attached..”
“Oh listen to yourself, I’m not the only girl here in Manhattan. Trust me, this coming weekend, you’ll meet someone new and you won’t even remember me. And dating is boring!”

Isabelle kissed me full on the lips.

“Ciao!” She said.

Just like that, she hailed a cab and disappeared like a comet. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if she and I went out for some kind of date or something. But on the back of my head, we were just having some teenage fun! Turns out that one night fucks aren’t so bad after all.. As long as you’re aware of the rules of your own game.
New York In Fiction

March 17th, 2013

#1

Fiction is better than reality. The only thing that’s real in this story is New York. Everything else is fiction. Fiction is at its best when it’s happening here in New York. From Central Park to the Empire State Building, New York is effortlessly beautiful without even trying. Anything and everything does happen here. And that what makes this city, completely different. New York isn’t just a city, it’s a different world. But before I begin my story, let me remind you that THIS IS ONLY FICTION.

My name is Lorenzo. I moved here from California two years ago. Having spent almost all of my life in suburban Los Angeles, I knew from an early age that I never belonged to the car-based city. So when I finally got the chance, I embarked to relocate myself to the city where I’ve always wanted to live, New York. I love living here, this city is my home. I work as an office clerk for a staffing agency in midtown Manhattan. And I hate my fucking job. The only reason that keeps me on it is because I need the goddamn paycheck to pay my rent. I have no idea what I want to do with my life. All I know is I like to write poetry. I know nobody writes poetry anymore.. Everyone is so hung up on social media confined to Facebook and Twitter 24/7. That is fucking sad. I’m 28 years old and my age has already abandoned me. I mean, I still feel like I’m 18 years old. Growing up has become obsolete for me. I’ve never been in a serious relationship and have no intentions of engaging myself in it. My generation has justified that marriage is becoming extinct. Not that I have something against it, I just don’t see the point of it.

When I’m not torturing myself with office work, I try to live my life to the fullest. Which includes sex with strangers, cocaine, and alcohol. In East Village is my home away from home, called the Belfry Bar on East 14th street and third avenue. It’s pretty much like my second apartment, the only difference is I cannot fall asleep there. But it’s a cool bar. One of my friends, Danny, works there as a bartender. He recently broke up with his girlfriend and has sex constantly with the girls who come in to the bar. I think being a bartender comes in handy when you hunt down for vaginas. I’ve met some people I’ve hooked up with in that bar too. I didn’t tell Danny but I had sex twice in that narrow bathroom on Christmas Eve two years ago. This is what I love about New York, you can be a prisoner of work and still find some sort of escape without leaving the city.

When I get tired of going to the Belfry, I go to the Beauty Bar across the street. It was a former beauty salon that was turned into a discotheque. There’s a live dj during the weekends playing 80’s music. Being there is like being in a different time warp. Also, that place reminds me a lot of Hanna, the first and last person that I fell in love with. I don’t think she realizes this but she really fucked me up. I met her when I used to work at a hostel in Harlem. She was from Munich visiting New York on September 2010. I never planned to fall in love with her, it just happened. At first, it was strictly platonic but the more time we spent with each other, the more I opened up to her and the more she opened up to me, the more we felt close to each other. I told her stories of my personal life that I wouldn’t normally share with anyone, not even with friends. She also told me personal tragedies of her own. When I was with her, I felt connected. Then I went into a “love haze”, I can’t sleep and couldn’t eat for days and I was wondering what the hell was happening to me. When I told her how I felt, she didn’t feel the same and distanced herself. And when she left, I almost lost my mind. It reached a point where I was suicidal and told her about it but she didn’t do shit. What I got was a silent treatment. I guess that what happens when you’re in love, you take a risk, you take a chance, you go through a crazy phase, you fall apart and then you get your shit together.