Three days in New York

Three crazy life changing days I had in New York City

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My god I do believe Im insane. All I can do is tell what happened. I swear its all true. All of it. Truly a life changing experience. So much so it put back into school. I was much too embarrassed to tell my family the truth. I think you will understand why. You see I have a problem. Opiates and alcohol are just to much for me. I am an addict. It comes in waves. Like the three insane life changing days I had in New York. So much embarrassment fear and self loathing from that damn trip. I haven’t had a drink since, so Im bored as hell but I do write more and often now. I have come learn a few things. Drinking helps you write the story because you live the story when you drink, but only in sobriety will the pen move. I did find when I got back to LA that I had done some writing in New York. It read like this.

-July 21, 2015, 4:38 am, New York City

I landed at JFK at 4:03 in the afternoon on July 20 2015. Right when I stepped off the plane the humidity hit me first like a wall of bricks.

Thats all it said. I had a laugh to my self because I don’t remember writing it at all, but I don’t remember much about New York. This is all true I swear to you. I guess I’ll just start there. Yes New York was rather humid. I called a car service to pick me up when I got out to the curb. A black car pulls up with in five minutes and I give the man the address of my hotel. I remember he was tall. He was from China, what city I don’t know, and he was the same age as me. We talked and he told me he always wanted to go to LA and see Hollywood and I told him he’d be better off visiting San Francisco. He then asked if he could take a phone call and I said of course and he had a lengthy conversation with a police officer about a mugging of some sort, (little did I know I would be doing the same thing two days later) apparently his mother had gotten jumped and robbed the night before. I said that it was terrible and thought nothing of it. We drove through queens and into some tunnel and them emerged in the concrete jungle, the never ending view of buildings and traffic and people, people everywhere and all moving fast. “Don’t look up when you walk around,” my driver told me, “you will look like a tourist.” I couldn’t help myself. He dropped me at the double tree hotel at 51 and Lexington, in midtown Manhattan, 7 blocks from Time Square, 5 blocks from central park and the lower east side, prime location for a stay in New York. I checked into my hotel dropped my bag, then back out into the jungle, people surging in and out of subway stairs wells, every corner crowded and everyone from somewhere else, languages of every sort on every corner. Whiskey was first on my mind. I walked east two blocks to a liquor store and bought a rather over priced bottle of Jameson then back to my hotel, (I stopped at a hotdog cart and on the way and ordered one, with only mustard, ketchup is a sin in NYC) where I downed about half the bottle than stumbled back out into the jungle and zig-zagged west to time square staring up in stupendous drunken awe at everything. I passed St Patricks cathedral on the way and took a few pictures of the exterior. Time Square was everything you would expect. People, lots of people, advertising everywhere. Buildings. From some advice of my uncle, I bought a ticket for a tour bus that cames around every 10 minutes, but needed a drink first. So, I stumbled into some irish pub on the second floor of a time square building with a great view of the street and then I saw the bar tender. Around 24-25, cute, blonde, then she spoke. I ordered a guinness and she complemented me in a thick Irish accent and I fell in love. I had a few pints and we hit it off rather well and then I stumbled back out into the neon jungle that is time square and hopped on one of theses cliche tour busses and headed south for lower mid town and downtown site seeing. I was drunk. I hardly remember anything. I think I spent most the time taking and sending pictures on my phone. I even made a few phone calls. Next thing I know Im back in time square and am rather thirsty so I stumble into some bar and order a long island ice tea, than another, then I don’t know, I was really drunk. I then remember stumbling about back to my hotel, than walking around to find a place to eat dinner than a plate of sushi and a bottle of beer in front of me, then Im sitting at a bar talking with the bartender about micro brew beer and I have a flight of beers in front of me. Now when the bus dropped me off back at time Square it was just after 9pm, I looked at my phone while drinking beer and remember seeing the time as around 1230. I then remember sitting next to a couple from Argentina, or was it Chile? I don’t know but we bought each other drinks and talked about soccer. Things get very fuzzy after this. I remember trying to get the bar tender to hook me up with weed then I remember being at a different bar with another long island in my face, then pissing in an alley, then standing at a hotdog cart and noticing the sun was coming up (bars are open until 4am) then I woke up shaking violently and covered in ketchup and mustard. I looked at my phone with blurry eyes 10:45. FUCK! I was supposed to be at the metropolitan museum at 1030 when the doors opened. I made myself a light whiskey coke, shit, showered, shaved, looked at the embarrassing list of text and calls from the night before, some to a girl I definitely shouldn’t have called... god knows what was said, then opened the door to the street and the humidity and the heat and all the people coming and going all in a hurry and I began moving north to central park.

I walked up the famed fifth avenue to central park and right when I hit the park I looked left and saw it. I recognized it immediately. The Plaza hotel. The same hotel where Jay Gatsby told Tom Buchanin that he and Daisy were in love before leaving in an unsatisfied hurry and killing Murtle Willson on the way back to East Egg. I almost cried when I saw the plaza. I put my aching head back into my palm and walked on north into central park. Central Park is everything you think Central Park is. Its Huge. Its Central. Its completely surrounded with buildings. Walkways and paths crisscross it. There a large lake with ducks. Where do the ducks go in the winter when the water freezes over? Yes that lake. I was just begging to feel like Holden too. I wasn’t having a mental brake down yet but I would be 24 hours later in the same park. I finally got to the museum and my god is it it huge. Since I was running behind schedule I decided to only look at the most famous painting I wanted to see, then jam. Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Picasso! It was amazing and I was getting ready to leave after taking a billion pictures, then I heard some one murmur something about a rooftop bar. Did you say rooftop, and bar!? They pointed to an elevator and I took it up to a fucking bar on top of one the most famous museums in the world in one of the largest cities in the world in fucking central park, with 360 degree views. I ordered a few mint juleps and looked at the view and.... you get it, fucking breath taking. I scattered back out the door into central park and headed back to the Plaza Hotel. I had to have a drink at the Plaza. Fitzgerald drank at the Plaza. Fucking Gatsby drank at the Plaza. Gatsby old sport!

Now I was rather sad when I entered the museum. I felt I was too hungover to really appreciate the art I had wanted to see my entire life. I was so hungover and sleep deprived I remember having to take a second and make sure I was not dreaming. New York is a place I felt I had lived in already like in some sort of past life or just seen it all in my dreams. Everything was amazing but I just felt I had been there already. I cant tell you if was sleep deprivation or too much drinking but I really stopped on some corners, people shuffling around me, and had to think, was I dreaming? It was truly a frighting experience. Anyways after those mint juleps on top of the met, I didn’t give a damn if I was dreaming or not and I staggered through central park until I came across a sort of bicycle rickshaw guy sitting waiting for a customer so I had him drop me off at the plaza. The Plaza Hotel my god. You enter through a revolving door and once you step foot on the marble floor interior you suddenly feel under dressed. Crystal chandeliers, marble bust, pillars, the palace of versailles is the only way I can truly draw a picture in your head. I stumbled to the bar, the youngest person in the room, the only one not in a suit, and asked for a drink menu. The cheapest drink? $30. “There’s bars and restaurants in basement,” the bar man aggressively suggested. I stumbled to the basement and walk up to the first bar I saw. It was a wine, cheese and charcuterie bar, right up my alley. I ordered a glass of red wine and and a plate of diced ham. “Hamon!” The cute waitress corrected me with a flick of the wrist. I fell in love. “Where did you get that accent?” I asked. “Im from Brazil, Sou Palo.” “I would love to go to Brazil,” I said, “but Rio not to Sou Palo.” She looked at me with a grin, “Rio is cute.” I fell in love again. The red wine was good and dry and the hamon was an excellent accompaniment. The hamon plate came with small slices of toasted bread, a spicy mustard, and the smallest pickles I had ever seen. I finished my glass of wine but still had ham on my plate so ordered another glass and finished off the ham but I still had some toasted bread slices and those small pickles so I ordered another glass to finish it all off and asked for the bill. “How do you say thank you in Portuguese?” I inquired. “Obrigado” she replied with another flick of the wrist, I melted. “Obrigado” I thanked her and stumbled up the escalator to the revolving door and back out into the hot crowded New York City street. It was 2 pm. I had to be at 49th and broadway at 9 pm to see The Book Of Mormon. I walked west from the Plaza until I hit broadway and turned south towards Time Square. I began having flashbacks of the previous night the closer I got to Time Square. For instance I saw an advertising for a movie, a huge New York City sized advertising, and I had a flashback of me talking to some guy in a Barcelona jersey. God only knows the content of the dialogue shared. Hopefully we talked only about soccer, but who knows what Im capable of in a stupor. I stopped at a kiosk and bought a copy of the New York times and read a few headlines. Something about the US reopening its embassy in Havana and something about the president visiting the city that day. Then something strange happened, I sort of ran right into the president just a few blocks later. I was right in the middle of Time Square and the police had the street blocked off and everyone in the city was crowded on the corner. “Officer what’s going on” I asked. “The President is coming through” he replied. Then from over my shoulder in a thick New York accent, “well could you tell him to hurry we go places to be.” Then another voice from the crowd, “come on Barack lets go.” I could hear cheering east of me down the street so nudged my way up to the barricade and started filming with my phone. First a billion cop cars then some secret service type suvs then a fake presidential car then the real one, the President was sitting on my side of the car and he waved at us, I’ll never forget that huge white smile he had. About a million more cop cars followed close behind then then they passed and the police officers scrambled to get the barricades opened, some citizens moving them on there own so they could cross the street then everyone began moving and life continued moving the streets careless and flowing as if nothing happened. New Yorkers aren’t surprised or stunned by things of that nature, they live in New York, they got places to go and in a hurry too. I sent the video I filmed of the president to just about everyone in my phone and I still had time to kill so I figured I walk to Rockefeller plaza and see where they filmed the today show, maybe I could run into Matt Lower again like I did in the airport in LA, and we could talk about his liberal agenda. I didn’t see Matt. I did however walk across the street to St Patricks Cathedral and was rather taken away with the building it self. At first I wanted to go see the place where Fitzgereld married Zelda but when I walked in I realized it was much more than that, it was the most beautiful thing in the eastern no I’ll say in all of America. You got the feeling it was built five hundred years ago in Italy somewhere and they shipped it over brick by brick. I sat down for a moment and sort of gazed around and realized how quiet and calm it was compared to the jungle just outside. Before I left I was sure to light a candle for all my dead homies and visit the gift shop where I bought my grandmother and aunt an Irish rosary and for myself a saint Patrick necklace. I have yet to take it off.

At this point it was 4:30 pm so what I figured I would do was go back to the hotel, finish off that bottle and be back at time square by 7:40 so I could drink at some bar for an hour before the Play. My hotel room was a mess. For whatever reason, in some drunken bright idea, I had put the do not disturb door hanger on the door knob. I ripped it off and through it in trash in the bathroom. Last nights ketchup and mustard stained clothes on the bed. The bed unmade. Pillows on the floor. My note book with all my writing in it, wet with a spilled drink. I hung it over the air conditioning vent to dry. The desk was covered in sticky cola and whiskey. An empty glass on the floor. A pair dirty socks and underwear beside it. An empty tall can of pabst blue ribbon, crushed and laying empty on the night stand. I poured myself a stiff drink and sat in the leather chair in the corner and thought about nothing for a while. I finished that drink and poured myself another one. The people of New York have all been god to me thus far. All of them very polite and helpful even if you have a question. They were much nicer than people in LA. People in LA are very rude and if you asked a stranger something on the street they would look past you from behind expensive sunglasses and pretend they didn’t hear you. I got up and poured another drink. The bottle was empty. New Yorkers and Angelino’s are similar though in that everyone seems to be in a big hurry. People in LA are just more rude about. If someone bumped your shoulder in New York they would say sorry. In LA you would probably receive some rude comment or long sigh as if you had disgusted them. That was LA. I was nice and buzzed when I entered the concrete jungle again and hit the first hotdog cart I saw. I ordered it with only mustard and ate it as I walked fast down the building lined avenues to Time Square. If only I knew the type of shit I was to get myself into.​

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