Lorenzo woke up with an excruciating headache. He was in the middle of a queen size bed, between a man, and a woman. Both are in their early thirties, seems like it. He blacked out again last night. There are four empty bottles of VEUVE CLICQUOT BRUT. He started to get dressed and slowly walked out of the bedroom. When he got out of the building, he realized that he’s in Upper East Side, on East 82nd Street and Madison Avenue. He then called an UBER cab to head back to the hostel in Harlem where he was living. But when he tried to get UBER, the app on his phone didn’t go through. He just remembered that he quit his job last week. After working for Goldman Sachs for almost four months, he had it. The fact was, he has to work side by side with a mentally challenged guy from Jamaica who was very verbally abusive. He endured working with that asshole for four long months. He woke up one day and decided not to return to work. He had already told his supervisor about it but due to state laws, the mentally challenged asshole is protected so human resources cannot fire him. Lorenzo was pissed, and felt trapped in a fucking circle. So he quit his job. He has little money left in his bank account. But he wasn’t worried. It’s one of the good things that he likes about himself. An ample amount of bravery and courage that only existed in black and white movies from the 1930’s.
So he decided to use the subway instead. As soon as he got home to the apartment hostel where he was staying,he went online and emailed as many resumes as possible. He’s been unemployed for almost three weeks now and god forbid, he might spiral down into deep depression. Lorenzo can blame and point his finger on root of all this. A month ago, he was seeing a girl named Gretta, a Swiss fashion designer, whom he met on a casual encounter, they dated for a little over a month. But then he fell madly with her and she told him that she’s not looking for anything long term. In a subtle way, she was literally telling him to fuck off. Their sex was good though, every time after they had sex, he would compliment her that “it’s better than porno”. The beginning of the year wasn’t exactly friendly to Lorenzo, it was full of deception, a relationship that he wanted which could never be sustained, a horrible day job that made him feel sick to his stomach every time he wakes up in the morning. After his break up with Gretta, he’s behavior became more fragile and most of the time cloaked in deep depression. He cannot feel anything, that’s what make depression different from sadness (sadness is a feeling, depression is an absence of feeling). Fortunately, he is smart enough to shake off or temporarily relieve his depression. He decided not to come home and went for a walk instead. He took the crosstown bus from Upper East Side and arrived on the West Side of Manhattan. On 23rd Street and Broadway, in the Flat Iron District. He walked from 23rd Street, all the way to 8th Street. While he was walking on Broadway, he remembers all the chapters of his life that have led to this one. Would it be possible that his break up was the reason that he spiraled down to his serious depression? He kept on walking, gazing at the passerby’s he saw on the streets; tourists,working people, homeless people, buskers, and the crazies. From that moment, he realized that he’s not that different from all of them. All he really was trying to do was to live. Sure his dreams and ambition flopped before his very eyes but he survived it. He’s still standing, he’s still alive. He finally reached 8th Street and Broadway, there’s a bar in there in which he frequented, THE GRASSROOTS TAVERN. Ever since his friends noticed that he fell into deep depression, most of them avoided him and stopped talking to him. That’s the beauty of having these so called friends here in New York City, they’ll hang out with you, party with you, get high with you, but when all the lights come crashing down, you won’t even see their shadows, he realized the difference of “friends” who only drink with you versus the friends who can actually come to your rescue. Lorenzo knows he’s alone and one the reasons that he hasn’t killed himself is because he realized that if he dies, no one will even notice. So he better stay alive and achieve his ambition of becoming a famous writer. But one of his major problems were, he feels like an abnormal piece of puzzle that never finds the right fit, whether it’s a relationship or work. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, but he keeps on marching on no matter what. As he walked in at the GRASSROOTS TAVERN, he was greeted by one of their friendly bartenders, Keith. Keith knew that Lorenzo has been unemployed for almost three weeks now. So he offered him the first pint of beer for free. So he started drinking and then some guy in his early 40’s came over to him. In a lot of ways, he looked like a Nazi skinhead. He smiled at Lorenzo in a malicious way and it made him fee uncomfortable. After a few more beers, Lorenzo finally initiated a conversation about literature and the guy declared himself to be yoga teacher. He also told Lorenzo that he could sense his vibe of depression and then, he invited him over to his place to smoke some crystal meth. Lorenzo immediately declined and started laughing so hard that the crystal meth-smoking yoga teacher eventually left. For Lorenzo, the whole thing was funny, he never met a yoga teacher who’s also a functional crystal meth user. After that, he had three or more beers, and stepped outside. As he got up from his seat, the bartender yelled: “Last Call!” . All the bar patrons started to leave, there were probably about six or seven people who were about to leave. When Lorenzo stepped outside, he noticed that he’s a little buzzed but not really piss drunk. He took out a cigarette and started to smoke a cigarette. Out of nowhere, he heard the voice of someone who’s dead and familiar at the same time. His deceased psychiatrist, Dr. Suzanne Lessing. She was wearing a grey pantsuit that accentuates her slender and feminine figure.
“Things will get better Lorenzo” Dr. Lessing blurted out.
“How the fuck would you know?! You’re dead for fuck’s sake!” He replied.
“This is just temporary, you will find something way better and someone so much better!”
“Oh cut the bullshit! Do you have any idea what I’m going through right now?!”
“Of course I do, you’re still alive and the pain that you go through is not easy. And I also know that all these piss and shit that you’re going through is just a phase. I mean, I’m sorry the relationship that you wanted never worked out, and that horrible job that made you feel sick to your stomach, I’m really sorry to hear about all of those things..”
“No need to cry over spilled milk, now I don’t even know what to do with my fucking life! And I feel very lost!”
Lorenzo’s eyes begin to get misty but he held himself together. Dr. Lessing looked at him with sympathy in her face. He put out his cigarette on the ground.
“I need to find a fucking job! I’ve been unemployed for three weeks now and I don’t know where to get my rent for next month. If a dead psychiatrist like you could make some kind of voodoo miracle, I would greatly appreciate it.”
“Times like these does not require magic, you need to let it organically unfold”
“Oh great, more pain and suffering for my fucking life!”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Then what the Hell are you talking about?!”
“This is your last call!”
“Last call? What does that even mean?”
“It means, that this is your last call to be optimistic about something.. Especially right now. After this phase, a life of fortune beyond your wildest dreams will follow.”
“Sounds too good to be true!”
“Just remember, it’s your last call! I have to go now.”
“Alright, maybe I’ll hire a witch doctor to bring you back to life will come true!”
Dr. Lessing walked away from Lorenzo like a human being, not like a typical ghost who would disappear. The following week, Lorenzo finally found a job. He secured a fulltime position working as a Mailroom Coordinator for a fashion house near Bryant Park in Midtown. Everyone around seemed nice and pleasant, he was actually surprised. His depression started to dissolve little by little. And he started writing again. He finally realized what Dr. Lessing meant by “Last Call”.
Bushwick In Fiction 