Tag: new york

“The New York Life”

June 6th, 2016

I found myself aimlessly wandering in the Lower East Side, near Rivington Street and Bowery. I think I just finished drinking beer and doing jaeger shots at Loreley, my favorite German spot here in Manhattan. Earlier during that day, I was going through a series of fortunate events I must say. My talent agent at ICM Partners, found me a publisher who wants to publish my new novel and next week I’m scheduled to receive a hefty cash advance of $300,000 for the book alone. But I since I was still fucking broke after the meeting, I asked my agent if I could get some money to live off on, and also so that I could quit my demeaning file clerk job at the law firm in midtown where I was making $12 an hour. That’s probably one of the worst day jobs that I ever had, I had to work with stagnant people who’ve been there for than a decade doing the same shit year after year. My agent, Cassandra, but I call her Cassie, agreed. She asked payroll to write me a check for $5000 and I cashed it right away at Citibank. I was so happy, for the first time in two years, I’m back in the saddle of good fortune. Life was finally starting to be nice to me. But to tell you the truth, I’m a bit cynical. Because no matter how successful you are in this fucking life, there’s always a possibility that you could lose everything in a blink of an eye. But I don’t want to dwell on that. I want to cherish and enjoy this New York life that I have for as long as I can. I started drinking at the Peculier Pub on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village, then to the Red Lion Club next door where they have a live band that played 90’s alternative rock. I enjoyed myself a little bit. I’ve thought of calling some of my so-called friends but honestly speaking, I think I’m starting to enjoy my own company and that’s important. After I finished my screwdriver, I went to Indochino Men’s suit outlet in Soho, and bought myself with couple of brand new tailored suits. Luckily, they had the exact size for a skinny guy like me, I bought one grey suit and one black one, all are three piece. I decided to wear the grey suit and I gotta tell you that it felt like a million bucks. Then after that I went straight to Loreley, had myself a sauerbraten and one masskrug of wiehenstephaner beer.

While finishing my beer at Loreley, and enjoying my newfound success in the unforgiving and rewarding city of New York, I remembered how much I’ve suffered during the past six years of me living here. I remember being homeless and living on different couches of friends, and sometimes strangers that I randomly met at bars. I remember hanging out with my well-to-do friends and art openings just to get free food. Being broke here in New York is a pain in the ass, but somehow I’ve survived it. One of my friends called me a hustler because of my survival skills. In desperate times, I’m always a quick thinker. It’s not a skill, it’s a principle. All at the same time, I’m also surprised that I was able to preserve and accomplish my dreams after all these years. I’ve witnessed a lot of friends give up on their dreams in order to have a more realistic life, and it was the most depressing newsflash that I have to hear. But then again, I have the same dream since I was a child, to have a universe of my own and rule it. I guess being a writer with an agent and some money gets me closer to it. With a publishing deal and a slated autumn release of my novel, I realized that the struggles of the past is behind me now. And I’m thankful. I also managed to afford my very own studio apartment in the Financial District, the rent costs about $2,745. The apartment itself is already furnished and included a housekeeping service from the building. I would say that at this very moment, this present life is a far cry from the past.

As I continued my walk in Lower East Side, I eventually got tired and hailed a cab around Delancey Street and headed to East Village. I got off on 2nd Avenue and 12th Street. I went to the 12th Street Ale House bar and ordered a glass of Carlsberg. As I was about to finish my third glass of Carlsberg, I noticed the symptoms of a blackout, So I asked the bartender to give me a glass water so that I could catch a cab and go home. I was staying at a hostel style apartment near Columbia University. While I was about to finish my glass of water, I saw a young woman dressed in beige, I could hear her speaking in Portuguese. She’s either from Brazil or Portugal. She’s about twenty two or twenty three. It’s funny, because at my age of thirty one, I still look like I senior high school kid. I don’t know why really. I always attract college kids or someone younger than me. I never dated or hooked up with anyone who’s the same age as I am. Sometimes I feel like Peter Pan, everyone else around me has changed but I stayed the same. So I made the first move like a shameless bastard and sat next to her. Her friends were outside the bar smoking cigarettes.

“Hi there!” I said.
“Hello!” She replied.
“Having a good night?” I asked.
“Yes, my friends are outside smoking and it’s too bad that I don’t..” She replied.
“You know, there are other things aside from smoking that you could do..”
“Oh really?”
“Like what?”
“You will find out, eventually. Where’s your accent coming from?”
“Oh, my accent? From Brazil.”
“Very nice, I must say that Brazilians are good at bed.”

She laughed in an impressive manner.

“I meant that as a compliment.”
“I know you did.”

Then she looked at me with a look that only a stripper would give if she wants to fuck the client that she’s giving a lap dance with.

“My name’s Lorenzo.”
“I’m Gisele.”
“Gisele Bundchen?”

She laughed again.

“No, Gisele Bauth.”

Then after that, our sexual chemistry went in full blast and we started making out. I then led her to the spacious bathroom of the bar where we fucked passionately. I walked out of that bathroom with pride in my pants. Gisele was still inside retouching her make up. Before I left, I asked her if we could link up on Facebook or Instagram.

“Sorry, I don’t do dating.”
“Okay, well nice to meet you!”

I then walked out of the bathroom with a feeling of rejection. How could a beautiful girl let me fuck her but doesn’t want any strings attached?! She made me feel like shit. At that moment, I realized there’s no point in holding on to an emotional attachment that isn’t returned. So I went outside to have a cigarette. As I was about to stand at the corner, I found my dead psychiatrist, Suzanne. She’s wearing a crisp, white long sleeved shirt, with a pearl necklace and a grey skirt down to her knees.

“Congratulations! You found your fortune again.” She said.
“What fortune?” I asked.
“The publishing deal, a new novel coming out, and of course a ton of money about to come your way! You should be happy and thankful.”
“I am thankful!”
“Oh come on Lorenzo, you have the lucky cards dancing in front of you right now, don’t shit all over it!”
“What are you talking about? I’m not shitting on my fortune!”
“Then why are so sad?!”
“Because I’m unable to control everything!”

Suzanne sighed and looked at me with sympathy.

“You cannot have everything, you know that.”
“What do you mean by that? Are you telling me that I will never find true happiness?!”
“You already found your happiness. And now, it’s just a question of finding someone.”
“That’s a really comforting advice coming from a dead psychiatrist like you.”
“I don’t want to lie to you kiddo, but try to be content of what you have. Now that you have this renewed success on your shoulders, everyone out there will always want something from you. Just be careful. And try not to blow off all your money on booze and drugs.”
“I have a question for you..”
“Yes?”
“How come you never appear to me when I’m sober?”
“That’s because there’s no point. When you’re drunk or high, it’s way easier for me to give you a dose of some reality.”

I saw siren pass by on 2nd Avenue, I then looked back at the corner and Suzanne was gone. My dead psychiatrist disappeared. But all those things she said to me didn’t. Is it true? That you really cannot have everything? It’s kind of fucked up. When you’re rich, it’s hard to find true love. But when you’re in love, it’s okay to be broke. It’s a fucked up world indeed.

TO BE CONTINUED…
“A Neverland Of My Own”

October 30th, 2014

I looked out the window of my private hostel suite and realized that three weeks of being away from New York City is too damn long. This whole European trip was acted on the spur of the moment. As everybody knows, I hate to plan things. But now, I’m gonna have to face a couple of problems when I get back in New York. A new job and a roof above my head. I told my friends in Berlin that I already have a new job when I get back to Manhattan but the truth is, there is no fucking job. Not a place to go. Wait, there is a shitty hostel in Brooklyn where the guy managing the place is a good friend of mine and I know for a fact that he will let me crash in there. So the roof above my head is taken care of. But what about the fucking job?

The following night, I hopped on the plane back to New York City. There’s some of excitement when the plane took off. It felt like the first time I moved to New York from California. It feels like the first time.

Back to the job bullshit. I’ve reached a point in my life that where I stopped caring. What kind of shit job am I gonna get this time? I’ve done so many day jobs and all it gave me was pure misery. I cannot seem to hold a 9-5 job for a million reasons. I mean it’s great to have regular income but what if you’re not happy? Majority of Americans work on jobs that they hate or don’t even like. But for the sake of survival, they all took it up the ass, just like a third world hooker desperate for cash. Do I have to follow the same pattern?! No fucking way!

Then I started thinking of Peter Pan and Neverland. Even Peter Pan says that the key to not grow up is in liking what you do. It’s obvious that he achieved immortality by believing in himself alone and refusing to bend over to a conformist society. Which reminded me a lot of my friends from high school. Some of them are successful, some of them are still living in California. I wasn’t able to recognize most of them because they all looked so old and different. It’s like the rest of them changed while I stayed the same. Is it my refusal to grow old? As you get older, you become more cynical about life. I have noticed that within myself and among the people I know. With me, it’s a constant battle. Trying to prevent myself from waking up to the horrible realities of this world and convincing myself at the same time that anything is possible and anything can be forever if you really want it to. It’s a daily battle. In Neverland, everything manages to stay the same throughout the centuries. Nothing grows old. That’s the life that I want, that’s the world that I want. New York City is my Neverland.

My plane landed at JFK Airport and I took the subway back to Brooklyn. I only have one duffle bag with me, so it wasn’t a big deal. I went back to the same shitty hostel where I was staying. It’s back to zero. I got a call for a few temp jobs in Manhattan, and the idea of having new jobs doesn’t thrill me any longer nor it makes me feel better. The only thing that still fascinates me is my writing. I have my noticed that my interest in writing has remained the same. When I got to the hostel, I noticed that my cash is running low. So that means that I need to figure out where my crashpads are gonna be. I planned to crash at the couches of my friends. I have to schedule each one. Which reminds me of the Coen Brothers film which I recently watched, “Inside Llewyn Davis”. It’s about a struggling New York musician during the early 60’s who spent the majority of his life sleeping on the couches of his friends. Llewyn Davis refused to get a day job since he pursued a musical career full time and stayed true to form throughout the film. But there was also a point where he almost “gave up” on his music because he felt “tired, so fucking tired” and surprisingly towards the end of the movie he still continued to play music. It’s a harsh reality of life when you take a closer look at it. People who never struggled, people who never took risks, people who never had to worry about their financial situation will never be able to relate to Llewyn’s story. I’m in that situation right now and it’s not a pleasant experience. But I’m staying optimistic and hope that I will get full time work soon.

Is it wrong to have a Neverland of your own?
“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….

Tag: new york

“The New York Life”

“A Neverland Of My Own”

“Looking Back”

“Dark To Light”