Three days in New York

Three crazy life changing days I had in New York City


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I was feeling sad suddenly and again felt as if I were dreaming. I stopped on the corner of 5th ave and 49th street and looked around. The late afternoon sunlight slanting between buildings. Was I dreaming? I really thought it over for a moment on the corner. I was depressed as hell. I moved on down the street and was in Time Square again rather suddenly. I walked into the first bar I saw, an irish pub and walked up to the second floor and right when I sat at the bar I realized it look rather familiar. Happy birthday! The Irish bartender said to me. 24 right? Ugh... yeah 24 I replied. I had completely forgot it was my birthday. And my god of all the bars to walk into in New York city I walked into the same one from the night before with the cute Irish bartender, and apparently told her my birthday was today. God only know what else we talked about. She didn’t seem off put by my arrival so I stayed and had a few Guinness’s and talked to her. I started talking to some guy sitting next to me who had just graduated from the University of Texas and moved to New York to get into real estate. “Its gotta be a tough place for real estate” I enquire. “Oh its crazy” he replied “so is LA. My brother is in real estate out there.” Then he went on some rant about how his brother says that people in LA are the worst kind of people in the world and the bartender over heard this and said with a laugh, “you know he’s from LA.” His face got all red and he started apologizing a million times. I”ts okay” I said “I was raised in Sacramento.” He even tried to buy me a drink.

I was nice and drunk by the time I had to leave for the play, just around the corner, and I asked the pretty little Irish girl what time she was off. She said 1 and I told her Id come back for a drink later. I walked around the corner to the Eugene O’Neill theater and took my seat and waited for the play to start. The play was hilarious. During intermission I ran to the bar and ordered a $30 long island ice tea. I damn near finished it by the time I got back to my seat. I walked out of the play feeling hollow and sad again and so I walked into the first bar I saw. It was right next to the theater and you had to walk down a stoop to enter. It was a long narrow bar all the walls red. A man sat and played piano at the end of the bar. I ordered a long island and tried not to be so damn depressed, but I just felt so alone and sad and old too after I was reminded that it was my birthday. 24. I once heard that after you turn 21 you have no birthdays to look forward to and the rest are just a slow countdown to death. I was dwelling on that and drinking one long island after another than that damn girl got on my mind and I was considering calling her, when I got to talking about politics with the bartender. He was from Brazil. His sister waiting on tables was from Brazil also. We were talking about Donald Trumps stance on immigration, the both of us thinking it was terrible the way he talked about immigrants, when suddenly over my shoulder this blind fucking piano player buts in on his way back to the piano. “-well if it were up to me I would kick them all out. We don’t need them.” I was drunk and this easily offended me so I replied, “fuck do you care? Its not like you have to look at them.” “One more comment like that and Ill have you thrown out.” “Okay,” I said “don’t trip on your way over there Ray Charles.” Now you must understand I was sitting maybe five feet from the piano when this prick started playing again. “He wish’s he was Steve Wonder,” I yelled at him. The bartender came over to me. “You should stop he’s the owner.” “You work under this racist asshole?” “Yes, he’s a bit crazy but just keep it down.” I told him that he shouldn’t work for a guy like this and read to him what is says on the statue of liberty and how the immigrants of the world are welcome here and, did I mention I was drunk? Then I yelled at the piano player, “YOU WISH YOU WERE FUCKING RAY CHARLES YOUR NOT EVEVN STEVIE WONDER, YOUR JUST SOME RACIST BLIND ASSHOLE.” The Brazilian sister came over to me and said I had to leave or she would call the cops. I left a hefty tip for the bartender and yelled as loud as I could, “THANK YOU FOR BEING IN THIS COUNTRY WE NEED MORE PEOPLE LIKE YOU.” He grinned ear to ear, “please man you are going to get me in trouble.”

I stumbled back out to the neon jungle and walked into the Irish pub and sat at the bar. The cute Irish bartender gave me a beer then I blacked out completely. I have no clue what time I left the bar or if I went to another bar but the next thing I remember Im pushing my self off the side walk and sitting with my back against a building. I look down to see my shirt covered with blood. My face is aching and it feels as if my nose is broken. “You alright?” I look up and see a cabbie yelling at me from his open window. “You want ride?” I stumble into the cab and give him the address of the hotel. I realize my phone is gone but I still have my wallet. He was from Russia I think, I remember something about Moscow. Anyways, I climb out of the cab and am approaching the door when suddenly I hear over my shoulder, “looking for a good time?” Two very hot girls are in a car. I could tell they were hookers. Next thing I remember Im sitting in the back of there car and negotiating prices. Then I remember walking up to my room with one of the girls. We enter my room and she tells me I should take a shower because of the blood and all. I look in the mirror, my nose has a long deep cut running up the bridge and there’s dry blood under my nostrils. I climb in the shower and I remember talking to the hooker then my hotel room door opens and closes and there was silence. I step out and look into the room, my wallet was gone. I throw some clothes on in a hurry and run to the elevator and go down to the lobby but there was no one around. Head slumped I walk back to my hotel and begin the process of calling my family and telling the fake story about how I got jumped and robbed on my way home from a bar, I had scars to prove it. I couldn’t sleep after that. I remembered I had put some change in my backpack at the airport. $8.26. I walked to the nearest liquor store and bought a 40 oz and a tall can and sat back in the leather chair and tried not to cry. The sun was coming up so I laid down and fell asleep for a few hours. When I woke I called my uncles second cousin who lives in New York and met her in the lobby of the hotel where she gave me $500, instructed that I get a temporary phone and then call her so we could meet up later and file a police report. I stumbled once again into the hot humid jungle and found an AT&T store, got a phone, text her and called my aunt so she would have my new number. This is the point where I began to crack. I had already checked out of my hotel and had nowhere to go so I walked to central park and once again was unsure if I was in reality or dreaming. Just imagine me stopped on every corner looking up and around, pinching myself. I was depressed and hot and my face hurt when I finally reached central park and sat on a bench. I was trying not to cry but then I saw this guy preforming a puppet show to a billion little kids all sitting crisscross on the lawn. The show was about that stupid egg who sat on the wall and fell and cracked his shell or whatever. When the puppet egg fell, the tears finally rolled down my face and I wanted nothing else but to die. To make it worse all these damn people and tourist kept shuffling by looking at me like I was crazy, some guy sitting on a bench in central park with his face all fucked up and crying. My aunt called me to see how I was doing and she could tell I was upset so she suggested I go to the museum of modern art or the MOMA on 53st between 5th ave and the avenue of the stars. I picked my self up, wiped my tears and headed south. I was mentally and physically drained. I stopped about every block and leaned on a light post to hold myself up. Did I mention I was depressed as all hell? When I reached central park south and saw the glorious Plaza Hotel shrouded in the late afternoon sun,I thought, hell I need a drink. I walked in and to the basement again, but to a different bar and ordered a beer. I have had many beers in my life but that beer I had in the basement of the plaza was the single best damn thing I ever tasted. I wanted another and maybe then have a real drink, but I had to file that stupid police report so I left the Plaza for the last time. She’ll be there next time I return. The MOMA has some of the best art in the world, but I could see nothing. I walked through the entire place and every picture had the same affect, next to nothing. I was dull, dead inside, just alive but not living. I saw Henry Matisse’s “Dance”. Nothing. I saw Pablo Picasso’s “Les Demoiselles d’Avignon”. Nothing. I even saw Van Gogh’s The Starry Night, my favorite painting, NOTHING. Then I saw another painting by Picasso, “Boy Leading a Horse,” and I damn near fell to pieces. I don’t how or why but at the time it made me feel as if I was that naked boy leading that horse with no reigns. I walked into the bathroom and started crying, the I left. I’d had enough. I just looked up that painting the other day and I must say I think its my new favorite painting. Its like looking into a mirror.

Anyways I met my uncles second cousin at the police station. To make matters worse she wanted to be with me when I filed this fake police report about being jumped and mugged. I even had to look through line ups of criminals and after about 20 pages I told the detective quite frankly that I was drunk and don’t remember what the guy looked like. My uncles second cousin called me a cab and I hugged and thanked her and got in the car and gave the address of the hotel by the airport, out in Queens, to the cabbie and off we went. The cabbie was driving like a damn mad man. Swerving in and out traffic, running lights, we were even on the sidewalk for a moment. All and all he got me to my hotel safe and fast too. I walked up to my room put my things away then headed for the bar. I had an early morning flight to catch. I had a few beers and I was filling sad about not seeing downtown or greenwich village or little Italy, so I ordered a long island ice tea and drank it fast than I ordered another and the sun was just going down. I could see the skyline of the city from the window and it began calling to me. The jungle was only a subway ride away.

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