Tag: NYC story

“Brain Damage”

April 24th, 2016

Here’s another blackout story. Where the fuck do I begin? The most important question is, how much do I fucking remember?

It was a nice Saturday evening. I went to see my French DJ friend from Paris, Aurelie. She was spinning tables at Output in Brooklyn. I went there to see her and also the fact that it was her last night here in New York City. She needs to go back to her own reality in France. This is what I love about New York, I continue to establish friendships with people from around the world. After she finished playing, we went to another little neighborhood of Bushwick, also in Brooklyn. We revisited our favorite spot, Happy Fun Hideaway. It’s more of like a pansexual bar where anything goes. Whether your straight, gay, bisexual or undeclared, there will be always be someone for everyone. I suppose I can say that from experience. LMFAO!!

So the minute we arrived at the Happy Fun Hideaway, we immediately did our tequila shots, whiskey shots, cans of PBR, glasses of whiskey and ginger. And after noticing that I was liquored up, I invited Aurelie’s boyfriend, Damien outside to smoke cigarettes. Since Aurelie is like an adopted sister to me, I made some pretty defensive/overprotective remarks.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked Damien.
“Sure” He replied.
“Are you in love right now?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good! You see Aurelie is like my sister, I’ve seen her hurt by someone before and I don’t ever want to see her hurt again.”
“To hurt her is the last thing that I want to do.”
“Very good, I hope so!”

Damien decided to return inside while I stayed in the patio finishing my cigarette. While I was smoking, I noticed an odd couple staring at me from the corner, a lesbian girl who looks like Kristin Stewart and gay guy that looks like Ronan Keating. I put out my cigarette and approached them.

“For some reason, you two remind me of a rendezvous!” I exclaimed.

They both grinned.

“Really?” Kristin Stewart asked me.
“Yeah, it’s a compliment by the way.”
“So where did you meet this similar couple that you had a rendezvous with?” Ronan Keating asked me.
“Oh I think it was at a Russian Bar somewhere in East Village.” I replied.
“Was it any good?” Kristin Stewart asked me.
“Yeah, it wasn’t bad. I had five orgasms in a row. It was amazing!”

They both looked at each other and smiled. Like a couple of sexual freaks planning a tasteful menage-a-trois. Then suddenly, Damien came out and called me.

“Lorenzo! Aurelie wants to see you!” Damien yelled.
“I will be there in a minute!” I responded.

I never got the chance to get their names but that could’ve been a meaningful threesome. I kissed them both in the lips before I went inside and my self-esteem was skyhigh! I came back inside the bar and joined back Aurelie and Damien. The three of us did more shots and drank screw drivers, since Aurelie has a flight back to France the next day, they needed to leave. So I had another round of shots with them, this time it’s vodka, then I was all by myself at that bar. That was my last memory. The next day, I woke up in someone’s apartment a few blocks away from the bar. I don’t remember shit of what happened. But I like the sight of the person I woke next to, a naked girl, about age twenty four, with long blonde wavy hair. She woke up too. She looked like Tara fucking Reid. The worst part is, I don’t remember meeting her, I don’t remember getting into her apartment. Fuck! I had brain damage AKA blackout!

“Good morning cutie!” She said
“Hi! Please don’t hate me but I don’t remember anything, not even your name…” I replied.
“That’s okay, my name is Cassie and your name is Lorenzo. You approached me at the bar and recited some of the poetry that you wrote and you’re also a novelist trying to find an agent.”
“I’m sorry again Cassie, I don’t mean to be a dick. I don’t usually blackout but last night felt like I had brain damage.”
“Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. I like your poetry, not too many guys write it these days..”
“Thanks! I better go.”
“Oh relax, stay up for a little bit and then we’ll talk about your finished novel.”
“My finished novel?”
“Yeah, you emailed it to me last night after you pitched it. Oh I’m sorry I forgot you had a brain damage and can’t remember anything!”
“Oh god, I’m sorry..”
“Stop being sorry! Did it ever occur to you why you emailed me your manuscript in the first place?”
“Umm, I’m trying to get into your pants?”
“I’m an agent assistant at ICM Partners, a talent agency that represents…”
“Yes, I know ICM Partners, I used to live in L.A. and I pitched a screenplay to them but they turned it down.”
“Don’t worry, I like the premise your novel. If I put my faith and believe in it, it could also cement my career as a full blown talent agent.”
“Do you believe in my work?”
“I wouldn’t bring it up if I think that it’s shit, does it make any sense?”
“Yes, it makes perfect sense. I’m just amused by myself that I don’t remember pitching it.”
“Well, I believe in it. If your book gets published, it could also open doors for film studios in Hollywood to buy the film rights and turn it into a movie. So it will benefit both of us.”
“That sounds very good! I’m actually happy to hear that but I don’t know how to express it!”
“You can give me a quickie before you leave..”
“Of course I will!”

So I gave her the quickie (by going down on her), and she enjoyed it. We exchanged numbers and then I left her apartment. I was still bewildered that I managed to pitch my book to someone despite the fact that I was piss drunk. But at the same time, I was also impressed by myself. The following week Cassie secured me a meeting at the ICM Partners office on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. They love the premise of my the novel that I pitched to Cassie – about the teenage son of a priest and a prostitute who ran away from home and living vicariously in Berlin. I also secured myself an agent, and that was none other than Cassie. Now the next step, is to publish the novel itself. They’re hitting up their contacts here in New York and also in Los Angeles, and Cassie advised me to stay still because my success is in the pipeline. That alone re-established my belief and faith in myself. Because for some reason, I’ve been hating myself for quite some time and lost every fragment of belief or faith. But this time, all that changed. I no longer feel like a fucking failure. Maybe my drunken behavior and “brain damage” incident was a blessing in disguise. I never expected it. One thing’s pretty clear, I’m headed for another major change. After all, my life has always been eventful. I told myself the same thing that I would tell my younger self if I could travel back in time, “Fasten your seat belt and enjoy the ride!”. Because I refuse to change anything in the past and have absolutely no regrets!
“Restart”

December 20th, 2015

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.
“Debbie Does Lorenzo”

October 11th, 2015

I moved into Bettina’s loft in Brooklyn within less than a week. She also texted me later that week that she’d be gone for the next three months to take a break from her University in Holland and travel around in South America. I asked her about how she’s going to afford it and she informed me that she got a generous sum from her mother’s life insurance. I think it’s ridiculous that when someone you care about in your family dies, all it takes is a million dollars worth of life insurance check to make you temporarily forget about your sadness. Whatever Bettina’s purpose is, I hope she finds peace after her own mother’s death. After all, Suzanne Lessing, my psychologist, left her very little clue on why she took her own life by jumping in front of an incoming train. As with my day job in Midtown Manhattan, it’s okay I think. But to tell you the truth, I fucking hate it. Sometimes, I get exhausted of being told what to do. My world will be a much better place if I tell people what to do. And I’m still working on that fucking new novel. This is my last rodeo in the pursuit of writing ambition. Lately, I’ve been thinking of walking away from the all the random one night fucks that I’ve been engaging myself after all these years. What am I doing it for? It does give me a form of satisfaction but for how long? To most New Yorker, this may sound pathetic of just maybe the fact that I’m getting fucking old! Hell, I’m only 31! Jesus Christ never had a real career until he was 32. This kind of thinking makes me feel lost in the city of 8 million people. So I decided to go out on a random Friday night in an attempt to walk away from one night fucks. I ended up going to the Beauty Bar and ordered a mixed glass of vodka and redbull. After I finished my first glass, I ordered another one and the DJ started playing notable tracks from the 80’s, it started with BILLY IDOL, MADONNA, and AHA. I was already fuckin drunk and started dancing by myself. Then a dark haired girl, slender, tanned skin, late 20’s, she’s definitely from Spain. We caught each other’s eyes and I raised my glass of drink to her and just bumped it with her fist. And I was right she’s from Spain, from Madrid. She smiled and that gave me more confidence. I held her hand and pretended that we’re dancing to a 1920’s song, I then started to make out with her and then after that, she whispered to my right ear, that she’s married. I laughed at her. Then she pointed to the corner of the dance floor and there was a guy there who looks like the Spanish actor, Javier Bardem. By the way, her pretty face reminds me of Italian actress, Monica Bellucci. So her boyfriend walked over closer to us. I looked back at her with a furious face.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I asked.
“Oh relax, there’s nothing to be scared of, my husband just wants to say hello to you.” She replied with a smirk in her face.

Her husband comes over, probably in his mid-30’s, he was maliciously smiling at me. Deep inside I was freaking out but I played it cool. He then touched my face and kissed me in the lips. The girl from Spain then started laughing and clapped her hands. The room was spinning and I felt more drunk than earlier. I grabbed his face and kissed him on the forehead and walked out of the bar. They both gave me the notion or pretty much an invitation to have a threesome but for some reason, I just wasn’t into it. I unknowingly ended up at Solas bar on East 9th Street, it was like 2 or 2:30 in the morning. I could hear the EDM tracks playing from the dance floor in the backroom. The bouncer let me in not noticing how really drunk I was. I ordered a bottle of Stella Artois and started dancing alone again, then I noticed a ravishing beauty also dancing by herself. She was probably in her early twenties, porcelain skin, red wavy hair, green eyes. She looked like she walked out of a Vincent Van Gogh painting. She continued to stare at me and I looked at my back to make sure she wasn’t looking at anyone else. I looked at her and smiled a little bit. She then stopped dancing and nodded her head to me to follow her into the bathroom. I did. When we reached the bathroom, we both introduced each other’s names. Her name was Debbie. I know it sounds like a porn star’s name because there’s a popular porn movie back in the 70’s that was called “DEBBIE DOES DALLAS”. That night, her new movie is called “DEBBIE DOES LORENZO”.

“Lorenzo is lovely name. Are you Italian?” Debbie asked.
“No, I was born in Singapore.” I replied.

We passionately kissed each other while I ran my fingers through her soft, red hair. She gave me one of the most magnificent head I ever had, definitely a contender for the OSCARS. After we finished in the bathroom, we have to do the walk of shame on our way out. Just like myself, Debbie also went there alone. She also told me that she just broke up with her boyfriend of four years, that’s why she’s a wreck. I told her to stop saying that to herself. We exchanged numbers and immediately texted each other after parting our ways. The first text messages between us after it was awesome, she got me excited of seeing her again. She made me think that I could actually have a real relationship with someone beyond sexual contact. I set up a date for us like a fucking teenager. I have to say that I haven’t been excited since Hanna fucked me over five years ago. I reserved us a table at a nice restaurant in the Tribeca district. I arrived at the restaurant around 6:45 PM, since we both agreed to meet up at 7 PM. The minute the hostess led me to the table I reserved, I got a text message from Debbie. It said “I’M SORRY I CAN’T, I WORKED THINGS OUT WITH MY BOYFRIEND…” . I guess it’s just my fucking luck. Every time I try to take a relationship seriously, there’s always a rain of shit that happens. I replied to her text, “IT WAS NICE TO KNOW YOU, GOODBYE!”.
I then started to think to myself, what the fuck was I thinking?! Am I blinded by one night fucks?! I took this as a sign to take a break from every stranger and spend more time with myself instead. Anywho, life goes on!

40.712784 -74.005941
“Guten Abend!”

May 5th, 2015

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

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

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

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

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

She just smiled at me.

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

I was surprised on her question.

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

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

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

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

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

Franziska laughed a little bit and seemed to be amused.

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

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

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

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

“What?” Franziska asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TO BE CONTINUED…
“Love & Filth”

March 16th, 2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

I then laughed for a little bit.

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

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

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

Darren then started laughing like a fucking jackass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TO BE CONTINUED…

Tag: NYC story

“Brain Damage”

“Restart”

“Debbie Does Lorenzo”

“Guten Abend!”

“Love & Filth”