I don’t know where to start in telling this fucking short story. The past several weeks has been critical. The dead end office job that I have at the law firm feels more mediocre day after day. I’ve been all over the place lately. Like, literally all over the fucking place. I haven’t written any fiction or poetry for weeks. Last Friday night, I found myself snorting lines of cocaine on top of a glass table in Alphabet City in Lower Manhattan while dancing with some twenty one year old girl to the songs of Iron Butterfly’s “IN-A-GADDA-DA-VIDA”.

The next day, I woke up in someone’s strange apartment in Bushwick, Brooklyn. I was alone on the bed, I don’t think that I had sex with someone from the previous night since I woke up alone in someone’s bed. I went to the living room and I saw four or five people, all asleep wearing nothing but their under wears. There are empty bottles of whiskey and beer on the table, and some residues of cocaine. I know for a fact that I did probably three lines that night. For a split second, I was wondering, what the fuck was I doing in there. Most of these fucking hipsters are like twenty one year olds. It’s always been my fucking curse, I always attract the young and the naïve. What the fuck is wrong with me?! I came in late to work the following Monday. As usual, it was dull and depressing. Most of my co-workers there at the law firm, have been working in that shit hole for almost twenty fucking years. I never understood people who have no ambition in life. Call me arrogant or cocky but I really don’t give a fuck. Ambition is necessary to every human being just like food and water. Right after work, I went straight to my favorite bar on Saint Mark’s place called the GRASSROOTS TAVERN, and ordered a neat glass of MAKER’S MARK. After a couple of glasses of my favorite bourbon, an idea came up to me. After weeks of this painful writer’s block, I was finally able to write again. I guess one’s writing ability is kind of like an engine. You have to shut it off once in a while in order for it to start working again. An image of a young, pretty woman came appeared in my mind, she looked familiar. She is smart, porcelain skin, brown, lush hair, brown eyes. It was the younger version of my mother. My mother never talked about her relationship with my stupid father. Since she never mentioned shit to me about my goddamn conception, I said fuck it! I will write a fictional story of their relationship, if they ever had one. Now this is the beginning of a future New York Times Bestseller! Who the fuck knows. As long as I feel this passion to write about this, then there’s nothing for me to worry about. I wrote down ten pages like I was high on cocaine. Then after hat, I had the urge to crash someone’s house party. I went to the KEY BAR in East Village and ran into a lesbian couple named Elsa and Yana who recently fled Ukraine and was so glad that they’re able to move here in New York City and could finally live together as a married couple. They dragged me to a house party on East 14th Street and 3rd Avenue. By the time we got to the party, some people there were already high as fuck. There’s a song by CALVIN HARRIS, “How Deep is your Love” blasting from the Bose speaker. Yana tugged my arm to a nearby room where people inside are passing around a hybrid joint, I took a hit, and it was a good high. Then someone came out of the bathroom holding a glass plate with lines of coke on it. After doing two lines of blow, I felt like I just turned twenty fucking one. Like a Hollywood child star who celebrates his career because he survived it all. I decided to get out of that room, the music of CALVIN HARRIS was still playing in the background. I was so fucking high, I could crawl up to the fucking ceiling. On the hallway, outside the bedroom, there’s some guy wearing a suit who looks like Christian Bale from the movie American Psycho, he asked me if I was okay, I said I’m fine. Then he grabbed my arm and kissed me full in the lips. That kiss felt mediocre so I moved away from him and tried to find my lesbian friends, Yana and Elsa. I looked in the kitchen and the living room, they were nowhere to be found. Then on my way out, a young girl who looks like an NYU student was standing by herself, with tears in her eyes. I felt sympathy for her right away, whatever she was going through. I came closer and reached down my pocket to see if I have any clean napkin, I didn’t. I wiped the tears in her eyes with my palms, she looked at me in a familiar way like she wanted me to take her home. I kissed her and she kissed me back, we made out for about five minutes like a couple of teenagers. But then I realized that what she needs right now to save herself from destruction, not a one night fuck.

“I’m Alyssa, I will let you take me home tonight if that’s okay..” She said.
“I’m Lorenzo”. I replied.
“Well, aren’t you gonna take me home?”
“I would if I knew the way..” I responded.

I kissed her again and left. Because I know for a fact that whatever I did with anyone in that party, it’s just in the spur of the moment, kind of like a magic show that you see in carnivals, it’s not real but it looks and feels good.

I went to a diner near Bond Street in Soho. I ordered a cup of coffee and started writing on my moleskin notebook. I realized that after all these years, what I was looking for was something or someone that I could rely on on a long term basis. This may sound fucking corny but it’s my fucking reality. I can’t lie to myself, and if I do, no one will suffer but me.