Tag: writer

NYC 2017

February 15th, 2017

Where does someone start over or begin again? For Lorenzo Basque, all it took was a sweet publishing deal and a second book release that flopped again. He could’ve quit writing and started shooting heroin but he was too smart for it. He decided to move forward instead. He lost almost all the money in his bank account, was forced to move out of his apartment in the financial district and spent month to month on different rooms all over Brooklyn using AIRBNB website. Most of the rooms he rented were around Bushwick, Williamsburg, and Brooklyn Heights. He ended up taking a job doing data entry at the law division of Goldman Sachs in Lower Manhattan. The job is shit, repetitive, and dull. But it pays him twenty one dollars an hour. Good enough to afford him the rent, food, alcohol, and cigarettes in New York City.

It was New Year’s Eve and he decided to go to a party warehouse called THE PAPERBOX in Bushwick. Lorenzo went there alone since none of his so called friends showed up. The Albino German DJ with dreadlocks, started spinning tracks of psychedelic trance, it’s pretty much hard techno but with a hint of mushrooms and acid. He went inside the vibe immediately dove under his skin. A few people were high as a kite, when he came in. There was one guy wearing a Metallica shirt and jeans dancing around like there’s no tomorrow, then a girl dressed up like Cinderella with leather jacket dancing slow around the dance floor. She’s probably high on weed, not LSD or ecstasy. Lorenzo started walking around looking for drugs. He asked one guy with the white jacket and weird glasses if he knew where to score, then he approached a Hasidic guy, probably in his mid twenties, with the hat, and twirled hair on both sides of his head. Alas! He got lucky this time. He asked the kid.

“Do you know where to score?” Lorenzo asked.
“What do you want?” The Hasidic Kid replied.
“I’m looking for Molly!”
“I don’t have Molly, I only have LSD!

Lorenzo took the piece of LSD and put it under his tongue. The he asked the Hasidic Kid how much he owed him.

“How much is it?”
“Don’t worry bro, I got you! Happy New Year!!
“Thank you so much!!”

And just like that, he got high on New Year’s Eve for free. The psychedelic trance made the warehouse thumping all night. He saw the laser lights in an intensified level, he danced his way around the dance floor like a child with no adult worries. The party went on until 8:30 in the morning. But at around 6:30 in the morning, He walked over to the open bar and found his dead psychiatrist, Dr. Suzanne Lessing. He was still high on LSD when he saw sipping on a glass of champagne.

“Lorenzo!” Dr. Lessing yelled out.
“Dr. Lessing, what a fucking surprise! What are you doing here?” He blurted out.
“Just celebrating New Year’s Eve, and maybe a little bit of some good news and advice for you.”
“What good news?! Have you seen what happened to my fucking life recently?”
“Sure, you had a second shot and still failed it!”

Dr. Lessing then laughed her ass off.

“Okay, I know that! I don’t need you to insinuate my fucked up life, alright?”
“Oh honey, I wasn’t insinuating your existence. I was just saying that you’ve had a difficult life here in New York during the past four years. And I think you deserve a break from all of it.”
“You’re goddamn right I had a fuckin’ difficult life! Sometimes I even wonder if I should keep on surviving. Why the fuck am I still speaking to you? Are you even real?!”

She finally stopped laughing and looked straight at Lorenzo’s face.

“I am real until the LSD that you took wears off. But frankly, the important reason that I appeared in your hallucinations right now is because something good is coming your way!”
“Oh yeah? What is it another too-good-to-be-true publishing deal that will leave me broke all over again?
“No, absolutely not. You will meet someone who could possibly love you and you will never have to worry about losing a publishing deal or money ever again.”

Lorenzo laughed at her.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” He barked at her.
“Oh no, I only deliver honest and good news, for now at least!” She replied.
“Well that’s just great! Another fucked up year!”
“Lorenzo, I’m telling you an accurate prediction! Don’t shit all over it! You need to look forward to the 2017, embrace it, and most of all, be positive and optimistic as you can! Doubt has the same power as certainty! Do you understand?”

The all of a sudden, he heard he crowd yell “HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!!!” . He looked around the room and everybody was giving each other hugs, some were making out. He then looked back at the spot where Dr. Lessing was standing but she was no longer there. If there’s one thing Lorenzo learned from his dead psychiatrist who only appears to him when he’s high, he learned that life is like a dance, no matter what kind of music is playing, you must dance with it.
“The Survivalist”

August 11th, 2016

Here in New York City, the idea of survival comes in different shapes. But my most favorite one is the survival against loneliness. Here in Manhattan, you can shuffle your friends just like you shuffle your Spotify playlist. That’s how it simple it has become. It’s sad but it’s true. And the sooner you accept it, the easier it is to live in reality. Although reality seems to be the last dimension that I want to live in.

The other night, I found myself wandering again around East 14th Street and Third Avenue in East Village. I haven’t visited one of my/used to be all time favorite, The Belfry Bar, I’m supposed to meet up with a new friend whom I recently met named Murray, he’s a forty year old banker who just moved here from Australia. That night, I invited five or six more friends but nobody showed up. I had a shot of whiskey and an ice cold can of PBR and then left. As I was about to leave, Murray’s cab arrived in front of the bar and I was glad. We hit up the Red Lion Club on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village and jammed along to the live band who played alternative rock music from 1990’s. After that we went to Barcade, on West 24th Street, where we played 80’s video games while drinking beer. I got so drunk and felt senseless, so I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. I finished a cigarette and when I came back inside Murray was gone, I suspect, he was probably snorting cocaine in the bathroom, got paranoid and left. What a fuckhead. At the corner of the bar, I noticed a young couple eye fucking me while smirking. Both of them were good looking, in their mid-thirties, I guess their Hollywood look made them attractive to me considering I used to live in Los Angeles. The woman looked like the blonde version of Audrey Hepburn while the man echoes the physical appearance of Marlon Brando. Fuck, I will have a threesome with them, why the fuck not?! I shamelessly introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Lorenzo! Have I met you two before?” I pretended to ask.
“No, not really but you will.” Audrey Hepburn replied with a smile in her face.
“Yeah, you will perhaps tonight.” Marlon Brando said right after Audrey.

I forgot to ask what their names are and when I asked them about it, they declined to say it by responding, “What difference does it make?”. I guess they have a point. A threesome with them is just sex, no strings attached, it doesn’t mean anything. I should know because I used to do the same thing. The three of us had shots of tequila and then called a cab to head to their place. While in the cab, the three of us were unusually quiet. I guess we’re all trying to ask ourselves, how the fuck did we end up from playing video games to ending the night with a threesome?! While inside the cab, for some weird reason, I kept thinking and reflecting about my fucking life. All the struggles that I had; working on real shitty jobs making minimum wage, how I was almost homeless since I didn’t have enough money to pay for rent, so I scheduled different couches of friends and sometimes complete strangers who were kind enough to offer a place to sleep at night, and then to the most important struggle that I ever had, falling in love for the first time and almost losing my fucking mind. And currently, I’m a soon-to-be published novelist armed with an literary agent, a lawyer, and a publicist, and my very own apartment in Lower Manhattan. All these things happened to me here in New York City. And of course, the countless rendezvous I’ve had with beautiful strangers and foreigners. I can’t imagine any other place where all these roller coaster experiences could happen and in a way, I’m glad. When the cab finally arrived in front of their apartment building, Marlon Brando and Audrey Hepburn immediately got out of the cab and both looked at me and waited. I also got out.

“This is us, I’m gonna prepare a nice glass of Manhattan for both of you.” She said.
“Yeah, I think I’m gonna have to pass..”
“What?!” Marlon Brando asked, looking disappointed.
“I’m sorry but this doesn’t feel right, anymore. I have to go!” I said.

I walked away from both of them. Not that I don’t want to have a threeway but it wasn’t my first time doing it with a couple. I think I’ve had my share of one night fucks, threesomes, foursomes, or whatever it is you call it these days. It’s not like I’m tired of the habits, I just need a little break I think, I want to spend some time away from this kind of pattern. I finally called a cab and headed straight home. Call me a pussy, but there’s a time for everything!

TO BE CONTINUED….
“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…
“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!
“Girl On The Subway”

February 15th, 2016

I think it was early Sunday morning. I was on the N train coming from Soho. Another loft party that I survived. Well this one is, more of like a rave actually. A friend of a friend who’s a DJ from Munich is in town, so that friend turned his spacious loft into a fucking rave house. It was fun. I tripped on LSD like a baby boomer from Woodstock. Everywhere I looked, while I danced with everyone, I saw supermodels, beautiful creatures, blessed with stunning and extremely attractive looks, they look so good that they don’t have to do anything. Well, maybe pose and maintain themselves, but other than that, everything, everyone is coming for them. I got so high that I left the party without my hat, scarf, and sweater. Other than that, I had a great time.

As I hopped inside the train, I saw a young woman, dressed in black fur coat staring down. She looked lost. I would say she’s probably in her early twenties. Her appearance reminded me of someone that I used to know. Long dark silky hair, porcelain skin, deep green eyes, she was wearing a blood red lipstick. The rest of the make up on her face was faded, but she was still beautiful. I observed her face and sensed her sadness. A punctured sadness deep within her. I guess, being a depressed person like myself, I could easily notice sadness itself in any place at any time. The more I stare at her, The more her eyes became misty, and eventually tears started streaming down her pretty face. I couldn’t stand to just sit there and be still, it was too painful for me to watch her like that. I looked at everybody on the train and everybody behaved as if they don’t see her. I stood up from my seat and sat next to her but she stood up on the next stop on 34th Street. I followed her, tears are still streaming down her face. I touch the back of her shoulder and she looked back at me.

“Excuse me Miss, are you okay? I asked.

She stared at me with a slight relief and then embraced me and continued to cry. I embraced her back as if I knew her. But at that point, the only thing I truly knew about her was her suffering in silence. After she embraced me, I held her hand and walked her to a nearby coffee shop in Herald Square. Her name was Olivia.

“I’m sorry,” She said.
“About what?” I asked.
“For crying on your shoulders, I’m not like this all the time”
“It’s okay, I know.”
“I never got your name.”
“It’s Lorenzo.”
“Have I told you my name?”
“Yes, you did. So what made you cry on the subway?”

She sipped on her cup of tea before she answered my question.

“I was about to get married and the man I love walked out on me with no explanation. He left me waiting for him in front of the altar. He never arrived, then I got a text from him telling me that he can’t do it and doesn’t want to be something that he’s not. Then he was gone. I loved him so much, he was the love of my life. And I’m such a wreck, we’ve been together for four years and he just left me.”

“I’m so sorry, that’s very fucked up.”
“I know, he was a fucking asshole. I know I’m stronger than this but it’s impossible not to feel anything.”
“We’re all humans.”
“Everyday, I try to ignore my misery but then the more I do it, the more I fall to pieces.”
“You cannot ignore it, but at some point it becomes bearable.”
“It doesn’t go away?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“What about you? Have you ever loved someone that it almost fucked you up?”
“Yes. I was in love once.”
“Really? What was her name?”
“Hanna, but she’s not from here. She’s from Munich.”
“Did she love you?”
“No, that was the big difference. I told her how I felt about her but she didn’t feel the same. She played with my head a lot.”
“What a bitch!”

I laughed at Olivia after she called Hanna a bitch.

“It was the most destructive chapter of my life and also my happiest. I was happy.”
“What about now? Are you okay?”
“I think so. I got over it after five years.”
“Oh wow, that’s a long time.”
“Yeah, but I think I’m still mending”
“I hope it doesn’t take me five years to recover. I could barely save myself right now.”
“You’re stronger than you think. It takes a spine to be human here in New York.”

After we finished our coffee, Olivia and I embraced again, exchanged numbers, and parted ways. Olivia gave me her sincere thanks before leaving on cab. I decided to go for a walk so I went back downtown to Lower East Side and eventually ended up at Loreley, a German beer garden on Rivington Street. Meeting Olivia reminded me that I wasn’t the only one having a fucked up experience. That a broken person can actually heal. I met someone at the beer garden who offered me a spliff wrapped in a filtered cigarette paper. As I started smoking, my late psychologist, Suzanne Lessing, appeared out of nowhere, smiling at me. She was wearing a brown leather coat, her blonde hair coiffed as always, and a red scarf.

“Meeting other fucked up people like yourself helps does it?” She asked.
“Where the fuck have you been all this time?” I asked.
“Oh I was in vacation in Scandinavia. Beautiful region, I visited Stockholm, Copenhagen, Oslo, and Helsinki.”
“Since when did dead psychologists take vacations? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”
“Well I am, except, I have to ensure that you don’t fuck everything in your life right now. I mean, I do feel guilty for leaving you behind after I committed suicide.”
“That’s nice of you, I’m not so bad.”
“I know you have this tendency to be compassionate to strangers but be careful.”
“Why?”
“Too much compassion isn’t good. There’s nothing wrong with it, but keep it to certain degree.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“As long as it doesn’t involve the future.”
“Okay, I get it you’re not Nostradamus. But could you at least give me hint on something?”

Suzanne sighed and crossed her arms.

“Fine, I’ll try. What do you want to know?”

A million questions were racing through my mind before I could ask her.

“What will become of me in the end?”

She looked at me with dismay and worry in her face, I know there’s bad news around the corner of my fucking life. I continued to smoke the spliff.

“Lorenzo, you know I cannot be transparent with you about these things.”
“You don’t need to tell me what’s excatly gonna happen, I just need a clue to keep on living.”
“You need to finish writing that novel of yours. You can have that life of luxury that you’ve always wanted.”
“Will I finally become rich and famous?”
“Possibly. But remember one thing, happiness isn’t something that you can create. It’s not guaranteed once you get that bucket of money. Please never forget that.”
“I won’t.”

I put out the spliff on the ground with my foot and when I looked up she was gone. It’s a funny feeling when dead people appear to you while under the influence. I went back home and opened my laptop and started writing. I have no idea what’s the genre of the novel that I’ve been trying to write all this time. But Suzanne’s advice gave me some kind of hope. It feels good when someone believes in you even though that person is already dead. God help me. The more I think of her faith in me, the more I filled the empty pages with words of fiction.
“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.
“An Affair In Fiction”

April 11th, 2015

Every fragment of past experience has provided me barricades of protection from everyone. Trying to protect myself from this crazy little thing called love is beginning to tell me that it’s fucking useless. If I tell you that love didn’t fuck me up, I’d be lying. And I hate lying. And I hate liars. One of the reasons that I’m still standing and still living here in New York City is because this is the only place in the planet that I truly love. From the rows of brownstone apartments in Brooklyn to the bars and restaurants of Lower Manhattan. I love this stinking city from the abyss of my impatient heart.

Last Sunday morning, I woke up next to Franziska, the German tourist I met outside of a bar in East Village. I slowly got out of her bed and pulled up my pants. Then she woke up and stared at me like a wolf.

“A goodbye after a one night fuck would be nice you know..” She said.
“Oh hi, I didn’t mean to sneak out like this..” I replied in a apologetic way.
“It’s okay Lorenzo, I’m not like most girls who will bitch about this just because you fucked off like a runaway lover.”

I realized something. The way she used her words and constructed her sentences, I immediately knew that she’s a fucking writer like me. I am so fucked. I promised myself over and over again not to hook up with another writer. Oh fuck, what have I done?!

“I see, I get your point. So what do you do for a living?”
“I’m kind of a writer..”

I grinned a little bit. A part of me wanted to jump out of her window due to the fact that I just fucked a writer like myself. I don’t want to end up like one of her fictional creatures on a “Sex and the City” column, German edition.

“What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a- wri-ter.”
“Sounds great, why is it so hard for you to admit that you have the talent to compose words and sentences?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t normally talk after a one night stand and I would prefer to leave it this way.”

I put back my shirt on and tried to walk away because I didn’t feel comfortable talking to her.

“Are you scared?”

I stopped walking. That question alone felt like she hit me on the neck with a baseball bat. I looked back at her with a serious and slightly offended face.

“Why the fuck would I be scared?”
“Because you’re trying to avoid a conversation with me. I’m sorry, have I offended you?”
“No, of course not..”
“Okay, I will stop talking. Why don’t we exchange numbers and see how it goes? I dare you!”

I ended up exchanging numbers with Franziska. She also told me that she’s actually here in New York for a six month internship at HBO. That morning, I met up with Candice and Megan at some brunch place with no name in Alphabet City. I told them about Franziska and also the fact that I’m uncomfortable hooking up with another writer.

“I say, delete her number and move on!” Candice said.
“No, I say give it a chance and take her out on a real date.” Megan said.

Candice looked at Megan like she was retarded.

“Megan, Lorenzo is a writer, he can’t be having sex with another writer!” She exclaimed.
“Why not?!” Megan asked.
“Because it’s against the laws of fiction!” I shouted.

Megan looked at me and seemed to be sad.

“Aren’t you supposed to be glad that you guys have something in common? She politely asked me.
“No not really. I don’t want to end up in her novel, poetry, or any of the shit that she writes.”

Candice picks up her glass of mimosa and gestures to the server to refill it.

“You know what you should do? Patent and Copyright your name and personality. That way if she ever writes a character that signifies you, you can collect royalties! Where’s my drink?!”
“Don’t give her that kind of advice Candice! Lorenzo, why don’t you ask her out for a real date and see if there’s something.” Megan justified.
“If there’s what?!” I retorted.
“There’s chemistry or some weird alchemy! Megan replied.
“Megan dear, Lorenzo cannot fuck another writer! Candice shouted.

I finished my glass of mimosa and decided to leave.

“OK, I think I’m done here. I will go for a walk in East Village.”

Candice and Megan both offered to walk with me but I declined. I decided to stroll alone. For some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about Franziska. I remember the cologne that she wore when I was making love to her, CHANEL 5, the only reason I know the brand was because I saw two bottles of it in her bathroom, her deep green eyes, her soft, wavy dark hair, and of course her . I checked my BLackBerry to see if I managed to get her number before I left her hotel room and surprisingly I did. I texted her and asked her to have dinner with me at MARRI VANNA Russian restaurant in the Gramercy District. This may sound cliché but asking her out made me feel nervous like a fucking teenager asking someone to a dance prom.

TO BE CONTINUED….
“A New Yorker In Berlin” (PART 1 OF 2)

October 18th, 2014

I woke up in Berlin’s Schonefeld airport at around 10:30 AM. I opened my eyes and found a pretty stewardess trying to wake me up because all the passengers has already gotten out of the plane. She has platinum blonde hair and light blue eyes, if it’s 1935 in Germany, she would be the ideal poster girl for the Hitler Youth.

“Sir? We have arrived in Berlin..” She said.

“What?”

I was still feeling a little groggy from the sleeping pills that I took when the flight left New York City.

“I’m sorry Sir, but you need to exit the plane now.”

“Okay, no problem.”

I only had one carry on, a leather duffle bag that I kept on the compartment. I finally got up from my seat and started to retreat from Air Berlin. I walked straight to the arrivals area and went through the checkpoint where they would check my passport and asked me if I was there for business or pleasure. And of course, I said pleasure. So I got cleared at the checkpoint and then met my chauffer which I booked online, he’s carrying a sign with my name on it. The Mercedes-Benz car was too expensive so I opted for the Volkswagen. The car service dropped me off right in front of the WOMBATS HOSTEL in the Mitte District of Berlin, later I found out that it’s the German equivalent of Brooklyn’s Williamsburg neighborhood, which literally means that I’m fucked with all these hipsters. I checked myself in for a private room and planned to get piss drunk on the bar that they have on the rooftop of the hostel. I checked my Facebook messages and found that my Italian friend Rizzo who lives in Rome, just arrived at the lobby. Rizzo and I met at an illegal hostel in Queens nears La Guardia Airport where I was subletting a small room. I came down to the lobby to pick him up and then we headed up to the rooftop bar. Rizzo insisted to buy our first rounds of drinks, he had a Berliner beer and I ordered my favorite, Weihenstephaner and a glass of Jaegermeister. I also met a group of traveling Americans who like myself, visiting Europe for the first time. And to be perfectly honest, I wish I never bumped into them because they won’t stop bitching about the inconvenient differences between Europe and America. So I thought to myself, why the fuck are you here then? Not to stereotype Americans who travel but if you have nothing positive to share about your travels, then shut the fuck up!! My friend Rizzo got piss drunk and started and flirting with a couple of girls from New Delhi. I also met fellow New Yorkers and they also bitched that were tired of traveling and cannot wait to go home. I got sick and tired of hearing their bullshit, so I left the table and went to the balcony of the bar, where it has the view of the Berlin skyline, I took out a cigarette from my pocket and lit it up and started smoking. I heard some guy walking in the balcony, wearing a brown sweater with a flag of Germany, he approached me and asked for a light.

“Do you have a lighter?” He asked.

“Sure,” I replied and gave him the lighter.

With his accent, I could tell that he’s German. Which fucking reminded me of Hanna.

“Enjoying your time in Berlin?”

“Not yet, it’s my first time here in Europe. What about you?”

“It’s my second time. I live in Munich”

“So what brings you back to Berlin?”

“It’s the wedding of my ex-girlfriend.”

When I heard his last sentence, I immediately found respect for him. He got some balls for going to the wedding of his ex-girlfriend. Because I know for a fact that if it was me, I wouldn’t go. No fucking way.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry to hear that…”

“That’s alright, it’s my decision to come. She never invited me anyway”.

I then laughed and was amused a little bit.

“Didn’t mean to laugh at you but I think you just became my personal hero. I was in love with a girl once..”

“Was in love?”

“Yeah, I was.. ”

“What about now?”

“Now? I don’t know.”

I then decided the subject of the conversation.

“So what do you do?” I asked.

“I’m a photographer.” he replied.

“That’s really interesting. I dated a bisexual girl once and she always took my photos, they’re now always used on my profile pic on Facebook.”

“That’s always beneficial.. What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a writer.”

I said my profession with confidence in me. For the first time in my life, I can proudly say that I earn a living writing fiction. I then smiled at myself.

“That’s awesome! I don’t meet a lot of writers.”

“I know, writers are becoming extinct. Now all we have are bloggers, nothing against them but I still prefer the traditional way of writing”.

“Like carrying a small leather notebook with everywhere you go?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all. Any of your work been published?”

“Yes, I had one. I’m currently working on my second novel and I don’t even know when it’s going to be finished.”

“What’s your name again?”

“Oh sorry, I’m Lorenzo. Lorenzo Basque”

“I’m Sven. Where are you from?”

“New York City. And you’re from Munich..”

“That’s right.”

For some reason, the more I converse with him, the more he embodies the masculine of Hanna. And I really fucking hate it, when a person takes me down memory lane where I still considered myself a human being, with human emotions.. Now, I don’t know what to consider myself. I feel like a deranged raven that cannot be tamed, some kind of fucking monster.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I better go back inside to check on my friend.”

“Same, I will see you around.”

I went back inside the rooftop bar and found Rizzo taking different turns in kissing those two girls from New Delhi. God bless him. I’m so proud of my friend! The next day, my friends from London, Danny and Joe, also arrived in Berlin after I invited them to take my first ever, German pub crawl. They’re one of my very few writer friends. Danny owns a pub in London where he draws his inspirations from all the weirdos who frequents his pub. Joe works for a brochure company where he’s in charge of all the writing. I also met them both at the hostel back in Queens, four years ago. I’m still going through those days, where I have to get a 9-5 job just to survive. Whenever I feel tired of it, I just think of Shakespeare… Even he himself, has to work as a money lender throughout his writing career, and also during the time of famine, sold grain and barley to his neighbors. If William fucking Shakespeare can do it, so can I!

Danny and Joe decided to skip lunch and went to see the Reichstag building that day. They could only spend one day in Berlin because they have to go back to their jobs in London. Rizzo and I went to lunch at Hofbrau Haus Biergarten, we ordered the Berlin delicacy, Eisbein – slow roasted pork shank with homemade sauerkraut, and mashed potatoes. You can’t get any more German than this. While eating, Rizzo got a phone call from his girlfriend in Amsterdam. His face became serious and pale.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Everything.” Rizzo answered.

I stopped stuffing my mouth with food and gulped on my bottle of beer.

“Tell me, what is it?”

“My girlfriend is pregnant and I need to come back to Amsterdam”

“Fuck, that sucks man”

“I know I promised to hang out with you here in Berlin but I really have to get back to Holland.”

“Don’t worry about it, I understand completely.”

We finished our meals and went back to the hostel. Rizzo left for Amsterdam that night. Danny, Joe, and I went to this techno club called TRESOR. We went inside the club, located in an abandoned factory, which I think is a pretty cool venue. We arrived at the club and found interesting characters inside. With ages ranges from 18 to 60 years old. I must say that the German club scene is the most diverse that I’ve ever seen. I would never see an age diversity like that in Manhattan. We started getting our grooves on in the middle of the dance floor and surprisingly, the DJ’s booth is on the elevated part of the middle floor as well. The DJ then remixed some notable tracks from FATBOY SLIM, MOBY, LYKKE LI, and ROYKSOPP. I forgot to buy myself a drink so I went to the bar. Across from me is one of the prettiest girls inside the club. She’s got curly dark hair, skin white as snow, deep blue eyes. If I’m not mistaken, she’s probably around 18, and that made me feel a little weird. The idea of a 30 year old like me fucking an 18 year old. Oh fuck it! I’m in Germany and I’m horny! Tonight I will get laid!

“Excuse me, could you pass the menu?” She asked.

“Sure” I responded.

The intentions in her eyes won’t stop staring at me. Is it my exotic background? I’m half-Italian and half-Singaporean. Thanks to my father who’s from Europe and my mother from Asia. East meets West. My parents courted each other in college back in Los Angeles where I was born and the rest is fucking history.

” Wie gehts?” She asked me speaking in German.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak German” I responded.

“Oh I’m sorry, forgive my poor English”

“That’s alright, I understand your English, that’s all that matters.”

“Are you from South America?”

“No, I’m from New York City.”

Her eyes then widened with excitement, and I could tell she’s having an internal orgasm.

“I’m from Heidelberg, just visiting Berlin for the weekend. What’s your name?”

“I’m Lorenzo.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me mine?

“Is that important?”

I then smiled at her like a dickhead.

“That’s mean…”

She smiled back a little bit.

“I’m sorry, I was just kidding. So tell me, what’s your name?”

“I’m Heidi”

“Heidi from Heidelberg, I love that about you..”

Heidi then laughed a little bit.

“Please don’t make fun of my name..”

“Oh come on now, I’m not making fun of you..”

I grabbed Heidi’s hand and held it softly in my palms and then placed it on my chest.

“Do you feel that?” I asked.

“Feel what?” She responded.

“My heartbeats, it’s getting faster. It means you’re making me nervous..”

“I make you nervous?”

“Yeah, in a good way. Why don’t we have a drink and then party some more at my hostel? There’s a rooftop bar there where we could hang out in open air.”

“Yeah, I want to do that.”

I looked at the dance floor and saw Danny and Joe chatting a couple of girls, I eventually found out that those girls are from Ireland. Heidi and I did a shot of tequila. I called Danny and Joe and the four of us took a taxi back to the hostel. We went straight up to the rooftop bar where we joined other travelers who drinking the night away. I ordered a couple of more beers for me and Heidi. She was admiring the view of Berlin at the balcony, I handed her over the beer.

“Thank you”

“You’re welcome”

“Do you have a private room?”

“I booked a private suite, I think I spent enough days sleeping in bunk beds..”

“Let’s drink the beer in your private suite”

“Sounds good to me.”

She grabbed my hand and we both headed towards the elevator down to my room on the 5th floor of the hostel. I waved goodbye to my friends, Danny and Joe as me and Heidi walked out of the rooftop bar. We stepped out of the elevator and bumped into Sven. He looks a little upset.

“Hey Sven, what’s up?

“I was actually hoping to see you…”

“Really? What’s up? Sorry, this is my friend, Heidi.”

Heidi and Sven both said hi to each other. I sensed that Sven is having some kind of emotional breakdown. I experienced that phase before and I know exactly what it’s like. I gave my card key to Heidi and told her to let herself in Room #504 and wait for me.

“Sven, what’s wrong?”

” I saw her, and she turned me away… I wanted to talk to you because I know that you’ve been in love with someone before who never loved you back. I just, I just wanted to talk and hang out with you that’s all..”

“I hate to do this but I have company in my room… I tell you what, let’s have breakfast tomorrow around 8:30 AM, sounds good?”

“OK, I will see you tomorrow, I’ll just drink my sorrows away at the bar upstairs.”

Sven got inside the elevator and went up to the rooftop bar. I continued to my room where I found Heidi lying in bed waiting for me. I jumped on bed and made love to her like a fucking teenager. She rode me like an expert, we tried different positions, and for someone in her late teens like her, she’s pretty damn good and experienced. I can now proudly say, that I’ve had some German orgasm. The next morning, I woke alone in my bed. Heidi was gone. She was a fucking player. on my night stand, I found a piece of paper, where she wrote her email address if I ever want to get in touch with her. I know for a fact that I’m not the only she plays around with, not that I disrespect girls like her, I actually admire them for having the spine to be themselves and not being worried to be labeled as a slut or a whore. Because in today’s still sexist world, the world reacts differently to the gender who’s doing it. If a man fucked a thousand women, he’s cool. If a woman fucked a hundred men, she’s called a slut. I just don’t get it. I never understood the idea of discriminating someone based on their gender.

As I stepped out of my room, I saw Sven sleeping at the corner sofa, by the elevator. I woke him up.

“Hey Sven, wake up” I said.

He slowly opened his eyes.

“Hey, I tried to wait for you out here last night…”

I raised my eyebrows and feel kind of strange for a minute.

“I was with a girl last night, you knew that. Anyway, let’s go have breakfast downstairs.”

“Sounds perfect.”

He and I went downstairs where they have the breakfast buffet that costs four euros per person. Sven is still acting kind of strange. He wants to say something but something is holding him back. I was wondering what it was.

“Okay, Sven stop it.” I said.

“Stop what?” He replied.

“You’ve been acting strange since last night. Could you just tell me what the hell is going on?”

“I went to see my ex-girlfriend last night and she told me that she doesn’t ever want to see my again.”

I sighed and felt very bad for him. I wish I could say that it’s going to be an easy phase but I don’t want to lie to him.

“I’m so sorry dude, I know it’s fucking hard but it will eventually pass.”

“And one more thing,”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“I think I like you.”

I almost choked on the orange juice that I was drinking. I put down my glass on the table and looked at him straight in the eyes.

“What the fuck are you saying?”

“I know I only met you last night but since then, I cannot stop thinking about you. You’ve been camping in my head. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I’m just telling you how I feel.”

“You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. I don’t think that this is the right place and the right time to be honest about emotions like that.”

“So where is the right place and the right time?!”

I was confused for one minute and didn’t know how to respond to him. Do I feel some slight attraction towards him? His physical appearance is reminiscent to Marlon Brando, except that he got deep blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, just like Hanna. I’ve been fucked over by Hanna, the last person that I truly loved and since then, I found it very difficult to emotionally connect with people that are attracted to me or I’m attracted to.

“Listen, I also like you but not that way. And about being the right place and the right time, I don’t know what to tell you…”

“Alright, I understand. Would you take a walk with me to the Berlin Wall?”

“Sure.”

I don’t know why the fuck I said yes. But I was in a tough corner.

TO BE CONTINUED…

40.712784 -74.005941
“My Name is Lorenzo Basque”

August 30th, 2014

As I continue to pull in eleven dollars an hour, I’ve also continued to email my resumes for “middle class salary jobs” such as admin assistant, executive assistant, office manager – all positions within the income range that I used to make: $45,000 to $50,000. It’s fucking hard to remind myself everyday that the mail clerk position in midtown for a designer shoe company is only temporary. Sometimes it feels like forever, the more time that I spend there, the more time that I waste. What the hell?! This is only a temp job, I’m not supposed to let this get to me. But time begins to move, my own words desert me. I spend my eight hour work days feeling like an absolute outsider and that everyone disapproved of me. This type of day job also contributes to my daily depression. My name is Lorenzo Basque, I’m thirty years old and I earn eleven dollars an hour. This is one of the lowest point of my fucking life. I called my psychiatrist, Suzanne Lessing, if it’s still possible for me to have sessions with her despite the fact that I’m broke.

Fortunately, she agreed to see me on the same day that I called. I was waiting in her office while looking at the view of Central Park from the window. When she entered the room, I smelled the scent of a designer perfume. Either CHANEL or GUCCI. I turned around and there she was, my beautiful psychiatrist who still agreed to treat my fucked up life for free! She smiled at me like a soccer mom would smile to her children after making them breakfast. I sat down on the comfortable couch across from her.

“So, how are you?!” She asked.

“How am I?! That should be fucking obvious!” I replied.

“Just tell me how you feel right now..”

“I feel like shit to be perfectly honest. I lost my apartment in East Village, none of my friends and so called family picked up their phones since finding out that I went broke. I’m currently working as a mail clerk making eleven dollars an hour. I wasn’t able to write anything for two months and I feel like destiny has singled me out! What the fuck have I done that I have to go through a shitty life like this?!”

“You ever contemplate suicide?”

“I thought about it two months ago.”

“Then what happened?”

“As I was going through a wave of suicidal thoughts, I started writing again. A character appeared in my imagination and the story began writing itself..”

“What’s the character like?”

“It’s about a beautiful woman who’s dealing with immortality. She’s five hundred years old but she still looks like that she’s in her twenties, and she moves to a different city every five years so that no one will notice or know anything about her. I’m actually enjoying writing about her.”

“Why did you choose the topic of immortality? Do you want to live forever?”

“I do actually. It’s kind of ironic because I was being suicidal during that moment and then an immortal character manifested.”

“That is very interesting. I think you should continue on writing about her. And I’m very glad that you are writing again.”

“Writing is more of like a necessity for me. One of the basic things just like food and water.”

“Does your character have a name?”

“Yes. Her name is Bettina Strauss. She five hundred years old and has lived around the world and continues to do so in order to avoid being noticed.”

“I think it will be a beautiful story. Is it a novel?”

“Yes, I’m hoping to get it done before this year ends. ”

I wrapped up my session with Suzanne talking about the character that I created. Before I left her office, she told me that I could see her anytime I need to and should not worry about the cost. A psychiatrist of her caliber charges $350 an hour. I am so glad that she offered that help for me.

I decided to visit my “safe place” in Manhattan. Whenever I feel vulnerable, defeated, or accomplished, I always take time to go to Lincoln Center in Upper West Side and stand in front of the water fountain. It’s kind of funny because when I first moved here in New York four years ago, I did the exact the same thing when I used to live off the food samples at WHOLE FOODS, TRADER JOE’S and FOOD EMPORIUM. And it’s pretty fucking depressing that I’m back in this place. I’m back to right where I started.

As I stood in front of the water fountain, I envisioned the dreams and goals that I have, the ones that came true and the ones that didn’t. Then suddenly, I felt something wrong, it seems like that the past four years has been a fucking tease. Life has cheated and tricked me in making me believe that it brings nothing but goodness but the truth is, it’s a horrible reality. Without knowing, tears started streaming down my face while I stare with complete emptiness in front of the fountain. I was reminded that life isn’t fair, God certainly has never been fair. I felt alone and singled out by every friend that I know. I looked around me and nobody was around. I wiped off the tears in my face with my palms. Out of the blue, my phone started ringing, I answered it and it was from one of firms that I interviewed a couple of weeks ago. It’s for an Administrative Assistant position, starting salary is $45,000, plus health insurance and three weeks paid vacation. The Hiring Manager asked me if I could start on Monday next week and I happily replied yes. Finally! A day job that can rescue me from the verge of poverty. I moved out of the co-ed dorm in Brooklyn and eventually moved back to Manhattan. I feel validated again. Most of all, I sensed that this life actually gives a fuck about me. A positive situation like this enabled me to focus on the new novel that I was working on, I told my agent, Sonia Groff and she sounded pretty pleased about my situation. Sometimes, a good situation also fuels creativity, negative experiences aren’t my only catalysts in writing fiction.

TO BE CONTINUED….
“High & Dry in NYC”

August 17th, 2014

The national release of my first novel finally happened. My name is Lorenzo Basque, I used to be a novelist and now I’m broke! I even did the stupid book signing at Barnes & Noble in Union Square. I was happy during that moment and so glad that I realized my writing ambition. But something unforeseen (Within my imagination at least) occurred in the middle of all of this. My novel didn’t sell a single copy. The publishing house dropped me immediately. The $250,000 advance which I received shrunk faster than a road runner. After losing the publishing deal, went to a period of severe depression and not wanting to get out of bed for weeks, I also ended up spending it on endless drinking and drugs. I was eventually forced to give up my one bedroom apartment in East Village and used airbnb.com to rent weekly co-ed dorms in Brooklyn and Queens. And the most interesting part is, people whom I thought are friends and family disappeared like comets. I guess that’s just the most common human nature, when people see that you’re no longer a success, and you’re down and out, they don’t wanna be bothered or part of it. I must say that the experience itself is also liberating. I also forced myself to get a job in Midtown working at the mailroom earning $11 per hour. Which was a far cry from the money that I used to have. But I’m a survivalist, I have the ability to rise up above my own ashes after a catastrophe. Though I still get bouts of depression from time to time. I’m still standing up. I was tempted again to resort to cocaine and heroin, but then I looked at my own reflection in the mirror and wasn’t able to recognize myself. That was fucking scary. I overcame my drug habits but still continue to smoke cigarettes and drink alcohol occasionally. I also continued to apply for corporate jobs since a chunk of my day job experience falls in that arena and it pays better than $11 an hour. I guess if I find a $40K corporate salary job at the moment, I’ll feel a little better.

The only person who’s still in contact with me right now is none other than my literary agent, Sonia Groff. She checks up on me once a week to make sure I haven’t slashed my wrist or hanged myself. I’m really impressed that there still people like Sonia, she continues to encourage me to keep on writing fiction despite the fact that my first novel completely flopped. The truth is, writing fiction became a struggle for me after my literary collapse and I’m stuck writing poetry and my fucking journal. I try to write short stories whenever I can, but most of the time, I’m concentrated on poetry. I’m hoping to write a novella or something that’s shorter than a novel and give Sonia a call. I’m sure she will be pleased that I’m writing again.

On a quiet Sunday morning something hit me, I woke up at 5:30 in the morning and hopped on the subway train to Manhattan. I was still staying at a co-ed dorm house in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. The place is cheap and my $11 an hour job affords it. While on the train, an idea came into me. An image of a beautiful young woman, long dark hair, piercing grey eyes, porcelain skin, carrying a suitcase, wearing a silk white dress, appears in my mind. Something tells me that she’s a world traveler and has walked the streets of Stockholm, Geneva, Berlin, Paris, London, Buenos Aires, Rio De Janeiro, Tokyo, Shanghai, Casablanca, and her latest stop, New York City. She’s not human, she has a condition of immortality, she’s been alive for 500 years. And every decade, she needs to move to a different city, change her name and identity and most of all, she wants to prevent anyone from knowing anything about her. It’s pretty much a question of life. How would you handle immortality if you have it?

TO BE CONTINUED…