As hard as the pandemic was for everyone with all its restrictions, I found a bright spot. Dubbed as a Japanese soul food restaurant nestled in the East village. It first caught my attention when I walked by one night and heard reggae music oozing out of the front door. Naturally I had to stop and take a peek inside. Through the floor to ceiling panel glass windows, I saw the entire back wall covered in 80’s dancehall records. I had long been a fan of reggae. Growing up, my uncle would play his collection of reggae records and my ears developed a loving taste for the rhythm and content of their lyrics. The music is what first caught my attention but upon further examination of this establishment I noticed that everyone working there was Asian and I soon found out it was a Japanese restaurant. My taste for foreign cuisine doesn’t usually extend that far east so I knew I had to take a good look at the menu and ask a few questions before I would commit to sitting down and becoming a patron for the first time. The first thing that caught my eye on the menu was Karage. Karage is a form of Japanese fried chicken. I have been eating friend chicken long before I was born and I can’t recall a piece of fried chicken I did not enjoy on some level regardless of its geographical origin. So, as I sat outside, remember this is the height of the pandemic so there is no indoor dining, I ate my karage with chopsticks and thought to myself “wow, this is nice, Japanese fried chicken and reggae music.” Still, as much as I was enjoying this dining experience, I knew it would be cut short because all restaurants with any sort of on premises dining had to close by 11. When 11 came around, the staff started to remove the tables from outside and the reality of the pandemic started to settle in. there was no social life after 11. I sat on the bench after they took my table, drinking sake, waiting for them to tell me the restaurant was closed. When my sever noticed my cup was empty, he started to walk over to me and I knew my lovely evening was over. “would you like another sake?” I was in shock and lamost thought he was joking.

“Sure” I replied. Maybe he was new and didn’t know that everything was to be closed at 11? Either way I didn’t ask, I was just happy to be out of the house enjoying the beautiful fall weather. I soon learned that this particular restaurant had a very savvy owner who knew how to get around almost every new rule of the pandemic. The only place I knew I could hang out to until 3 in the morning? The pandemic didn’t seem so bad now. Even before I started hanging out at bars and clubs, I was a night owl, so it was a joy to find a place that would accommodate my craving for A.M adventures. I started to go so often that I knew all of the staff including the owner and her husband by name. They would greet me warmly every time they saw me waiting outside ready to be seated. If I was eating, they knew I would order karage, and if I decided to skip the dinner and just drink, they knew I would order 1 Cup, which is one of the most popular sakes in Japan. As the months went on and the weather got colder, they installed heaters, which had to be some of the best outdoor heaters I have ever felt. Almost making you forget you were outside. Every so often they would teach me a new Japanese word and I recall one night, the word I learned was Kinyobi, which means Friday. That same Friday I arrived, already full from a dinner I had earlier, so I just came to drink and enjoy the company of whoever was out that night.

There is a girl in her mid 20’s who lives on the 11^th floor of the building of which I am the doorman. She is originally from Dubai but now living in New York and going to Parson school of design. She has been living in the building for a year and a half and I am not quite sure how we became friends, I have only seen her once, maybe twice outside of the lobby of the building. We do follow each other on social media so that may have graduated our friendship to the level of “close friends” but besides that all of our interactions with each other come while in the lobby. I remembered when she first moved in she would ask me about suggestions for cool places to go, I’m not sure if she ever went to any place I suggested but she was always excited to get the inside scoop for a place that could potentially become her next favorite. Over time the conversations in the lobby got longer and she got more comfortable hanging out in the lobby, so comfortable that sometimes she now sits on top of my desk to have conversations with me. I don’t mind that much because I am working and conversation with anyone who isn’t super annoying helps the time pass but everyone coming in and out of the lobby looks at us both like we are weird or have some kind of romance going on. It doesn’t help that a lot of our conversations revolve around her love life, so random tenants will walk by and hear her talking about her experience going on a date with one of her guys in Miami or how another guy proposed to her in Dubai. That was precisely the topic of discussion during my most recent observation of her. She walked into the lobby around 9:30 PM and as soon as she walked in she removed her bag, walk right up to my desk and set up shop. I knew I was in for a session when she sat on my desk with her legs crossed. My desk extends all the way to the wall so that’s where she leaned up against and her front side was facing the entrance of the building. In some instances, whomever walks in the building my even see her before me and wonder what this Arab lady is doing sitting on top of the desk. She mentioned she was on spring break from school and heading to Miami for the week, which was a perfect Segway for her to mention her the guys she set up a date with. Seems as though they have some history and have gone on dates before in Miami (she frequents there whenever she has a few days off from school and not going back home to Dubai). After the we chatted about that guy the conversation shifted to Dubai and how the traditional culture was not benefitting the women of the country. That quickly led to her telling me she wants nothing to do with the man in Dubai that proposed to her. In general, from this particular encounter and taking into account all the conversations we have had, it seems like her Being in New York is exposing her to the contrast of the United to Dubai, and as good as life me be there, specifically financially, it’s not worth the oppression towards women. Its clear that she wants to explore the dating world and back in Dubai that doesn’t exist for women, I think that’s why dating is always a topic of discussion because for me it is not taboo at all and she finds comfort in being able to speak her mind on the topic without being judged. Whatever the situation may be, I just hope more rumors about m e and her don’t start going around the building. I’ve already had multiple tenants ask me what the situation was between me and Hessa because they see her posted on my desk for sometimes hours. While I don’t mind the company, and am guilty of flirty with her myself (come on, what else am I supposed to do?), I still have a job to do and my therapy sessions usually start at 150 an hour so I might have to start writing invoices for her. 

It was the most random occurrences, how this group of people ended up in the same room, only God knows. I am pretty sure we will all never be in the same room again so I’m happy I captured such and enlightening conversation. So, there is me, my friend Manny who I’ve known for a few years through a mutual friend from high school, the girl who he was staying with that night, who’s name slips my memory and my friend Rodney who I have known for a few years from frequenting the same bar in Greenpoint. It started when I was walking to the train from a bar in the Lower East Side, I took a longer route because the train wasn’t arriving for another 15 minutes and I’d rather walk than stand waiting in the subway. As I was walking, I come across a door that was highly reflective, almost to the point where it could have been a mirror, so I stopped for a second and just looked at myself. As a turned to continue walking I saw Manny crossing the street with his lady friend. At first, he didn’t see me and I made some kind of sound to get his attention but he didn’t respond, I’m sure from a far I could have looked like a suspicious character standing in the middle of the sidewalk alone at 5 in the morning, so I hit him with a “yerrr” and when he looked to see who it was we acknowledged each other and talked for a few minutes out on the sidewalk. He introduced me to his friend and she was very nice and friendly, so much as to invite me up to her place with them to smoke a joint and have a last drink before I went home. It just so happened she lived right up the street so of course I accepted the invitation. At this point we are still standing on the street just talking when I see Rodney walking across the street. He starts to walk in our direction with his power strut and I just start to laugh because I randomly ran into him very briefly at a bar earlier in the night after not seeing him for over a year so to see him again in the same night was funny. His “baby” aka his Lexus SUV was parked almost directly in from of the girl’s apartment building, randomly of course. I say hi to Rodney and he introduces himself to Manny and his friend. I could tell she is mesmerized by Rodney, as most people usually are when they first meet him because he’s a different kind of guy. He’s a 6’2, built, black guy who has a style that’s crosses genders. On this particular night he had on a houndstooth sports coat with no shirt underneath and blonde highlighted extensions in his hair that went down to the middle of his back, a leather purse, large gold earrings and a pound of lip-gloss on his mouth. 5 minutes ago, it was just me and now the gang was all here. Manny’s friend extended the invite to Rodney as well and before we knew it, we were all sitting in her living room sipping beer and smoking a joint. The assignment to record sound was on my mind ever since it was assigned and I had previously recorded numerous other sounds, also mostly conversations, but I knew I had to record this one because Rodney in so outgoing, funny and flamboyant that I knew I would get some good material. As the conversation starts to flow, Rodney steals the show as I knew he would and somehow, we got into a conversation about the word “faggot”. The girl was somewhat taken back by that Rodney would be a person to use that word, especially because the whole time she was trying to make sure she was politically correct to not offend him. So much to the point that she was referring to him as “she” throughout the night. I am the only one in the room that has known Rodney before that night and I have never heard him being referred to him as she, but he didn’t correct her so as long as he didn’t have a problem with it, everything was cool, but I did note that this girl was just one of those white girls who knew her privilege in life and made it a point to try not to offend anyone who has been historically discriminated against.  The whole recording is almost an hour long but the meat of the conversation and my main take away occurs within this 5-minute span where Rodney describes why he uses the word faggot and the difference between him and some other gay people that give gay people like himself a bad name.

“I’m saying “faggot” from a mentality of gays that have been through some of the similar hardships that anyone that’s gay goes through, not being accepted, being bashed, being bullied, all the hardships collectively that makes one feel not heard, not seen, not accepted. So, there’s a lot of pain. Then you have the ones that have went through that same hardship, but the way that they treat women…nasty. The way that they are divisive, the way that they compete with women, the way that they degrade women. I’ve sat there in gay bars and watched them trash women for no fucking reason. Based off of their own insecurities and how they view themselves because they don’t feel accepted, they don’t feel welcome, they don’t feel the self-love. That’s where I come in I’m different, I was raised by a tribe, a hardworking southern tribe, that said ‘Rodney we know you different, we don’t want you to change, what we want from you Rodney is that as you grow up, we need you to own your shit. We need you to be accountable, and we need you to be three times a good, because no matter what you do, no matter how successful you become, in the eyes of the people that don’t get it, you’re always gonna be a black gay man.’ So, I was bread and taught and molded how to carry myself, which is why I don’t fuck with a lot of gays, on that fuck shit, degrading women.”

I appreciated this conversation because it gave me a chance to hear from a gay person that has been accepted by his family from a young age and prepared him for what society would throw at him for being different.

As interesting as that whole conversation was, the most interesting part for me was the ending of the conversation when Rodney said he was getting bored with his rotation people he was involved with and reflected on what could possibly come in the future. “I’ve been fucking with bitches… excuse me… women, a lot more and it’s been great. I think when it’s said and done, I’ll probably… I could end up with a woman, and I’d be happy about it. I feel like I’m more sexually attracted to men but I’m more emotionally connected to women, which is where my heart is. Women have my heart, I feel like I need to do this gay thing, you know, but it’s just sexual, not any substance.” Overall, it was a great conversation and I was happy that I was able the unofficial moderator while also being a fly on the wall.

The first time I had starbucks was in the 5^th grade when I was first able to go out for lunch. I went to elementary school on the upper east side around a bunch of rich…anyway, that’s besides the point. We, the 5^th grade student body were granted the privilege of going out for lunch. My parents didn’t give me going out to lunch money so I would just tag along and one afternoon found myself in starbucks. It seemed like heaven at the time, there were nice bean bag sofas and everything about it seemed luxury. I remember my friend Matt buying me a caramel frap and I would lounge on the sofa for 30 minutes sipping that thing, life was all good. Fast forward to 2022 and I hate everything about starbucks. I can see right through all their marketing technique and its almost to the point where it angers me. I am specifically talking about the brick-and-mortar coffee shops. Whatever they sell in regular stores gets a pass because at that point their just like everyone else, but as for their coffee shops, the sight of them leaves a bad taste in my mouth, like their coffee. When I see lines of people waiting to place their orders it makes me wonder. Is there not a better place they can get coffee? Personally I think their coffee sucks and most of their other drinks might as well come with a diabetes warning with all the sugary syrup that’s pumped into them. It would be easier for me to show them a little more love if what they sold was actually good but I remember seeing them warm up my premade bacon egg and cheese and ive never looked at them the same since. They last few times I have stepped foot into one was just to use the bathroom and some people actually get excited to place their order and wait for the cashier to ask their name. its definitely more of an expirence then it is a good coffee shop and I respect what they have been able to build. I mean, it’s the largest coffee chain in the world for a reason, which says a lot about our society. Are we all stupid? I know its easy to just go along with what everyone else is doing but I wonder how many people who drink starbucks would pick the other coffee if they blindly tasted them side by side in a pepsi challenge? If dunkin donuts had an older siblking it would be starbucks. Mcdonalds, subway and a whole bunch of other chains are all in the same boat and I hate them all. Its like a presidential election with horrible candidates who have money to campaign and sway the public against someone who actually cares about what the people want and need, but he’s broke he doesn’t reach the masses. I hope for as long as I live I’m able to recognize when I’m getting played by the big fish and support the little fish because this world doesn’t need more starbucks.

It was the summer of ’06, the age of myspace, and I was entering my junior year in high school. Now a seasoned veteran, all of 15 years old, I knew the ropes of the high school game and was ready to take full advantage of my status as an 11^th grader, which meant I needed to let the ladies know I was ready to mingle. I had a somewhat girlfriend at the time but was looking to trade in the old model for something a little better. Enter, Bonnie Black. I had seen her around school but knew close to nothing about her besides that she was best friends with my friend’s girlfriend. On her myspace profile she had the words “Houston” and “Harlem”. I wasn’t quite sure what those two cities meant to her but I am from Harlem so it was a chance to make my entry into a conversation so I sent her a message. Keep in mind I am a grade above her so I’m sure the appeal of getting attention from an older guy factored into how smoothly I was able work my magic but nevertheless, I knew I was in good position to strike once the school year started.  

It took a few weeks to get the ball rolling once the school year started because we weren’t in the same grade so if we were going to actually see each other it would take time and effort. I had successfully aborted any ties I had to my previous girlfriend with the oldest trick in the book, “it’s not you it’s me” so I was in the clear to attack the situation that was bonnie without feeling too guilty. Since we did have mutual friends, we started to actually spend time around each other during lunch hours and a little after school. After we got acclimated with being around each other we moved to arranging meet ups in the hallway to establish some intimacy and our hallways meetings quickly lead to back staircase meetings. I had already been talking up a big game since the summer and this was my time to back it up, the only problem was that besides kissing and feeling I mostly had no idea was I was doing besides what I had seen in videos, and none of them took place in a back staircase of a high school. Still, I felt I had the situation under control and as long as I looked like I knew what I was doing, she would follow my lead and I could figure it out on the way. This was a very dangerous game we were playing, especially when our daily staircase meet-ups started to consistently reach second base. There were too many times where we would hear someone coming, have to free our hands as quick as possible and pretend to be having a deep conversation. More weeks passed and the meetings were heating up. Up until this point it was the greatest fling I had ever had in my life and it was time to take it to the next level. She had already expressed to me that she had been to home base before, so my natural response was to at least match her. I had not been there, but how would she know? As long as I kept my nerves in check and followed the instructional videos I had been watching for years, I would be good to go, wouldn’t I? There’s only one way to find out…

We arranged to hang out one evening after school when she knew her mother would be out until late night hours. We had already warmed ourselves up in the staircase and discussed how hot and sexy everything was going to be later on when got together. There was no grand tour she just led me down the hallway past her mother’s room, the kitchen, through the living room, where her Pitbull, JoJo, was laying and straight through the French doors in the back of the apartment that led to her room which was facing the street. She closed the door behind her and the action picked up right where it left off earlier in the day. First and second base came and went, I wasn’t quite ready for home so I made a pit stop at third. Not quite sure of how to play third base I quickly rounded and headed for home. I was ass naked likely still in my socks at this point and I was too in the game to realize I had never played this game before, watched it plenty, but to actually play is a different feeling. “Wow it’s so warm in here” were my first thoughts and then I heard a voice that wasn’t mine, or Bonnie’s. Where is the Abort Switch when I needed it most? As a look up to her room door opening, her mother, with a somewhat amused face looking straight into our faces and said “Oh, I’ve been meaning to meet Jeffrey.”  That’s all she said, and then closed the door. She left us alone to get dressed but I was flustered. I kept looking at the window and I even asked Bonnie if she thought it would be better for me to leave through the fire escape to avoid having to cross paths with her mother. I sat on the edge of the bed for a while after getting dressed thinking about what to do and eventually I had no choice but to walk back through those doors and face whatever I had coming. I took a last glance at Bonnie before taking a deep breath and opened her room door slowly, her mother was standing in the living room next to Jojo and at this point I was ready for any kind of punishment, I had almost forgotten that she wasn’t my mother. “You’re lucky Jojo isn’t chewing your ass right now.” She uttered those words with a very serious face but I could sense there was a bit of second-hand embarrassment, for me. I didn’t say anything, just walked back down the hallway very quietly with my head down and let myself out of the apartment happy to not have been eaten alive by their Pitbull. My walk home was very interesting, I was in such a shock that half way home all I could do was laugh and hope that I got a second chance.

            When I saw Bonnie the next day, there didn’t seem to be much of an issue, I’m sure there was some kind of punishment but as far as I could tell everything was all good but I knew I had to make things right with her mother if I wanted to continue seeing her in any fashion, so I asked Bonnie for her mother’s contact information and I reached out to her via email. If my memory serves me correctly, this is the first professional email I ever wrote. My deepest apologies were all over it from beginning to end and I even proposed the idea that we meet up so I could apologize in person so she could get an idea of who I really was. I was hoping she would take it as a sign of respect that I cared enough to not run away from our awkward situation but rather try and make emends and attempt to show that even though our first encounter wasn’t ideal, I was indeed a stand-up guy. She accepted my offer and the next thing I knew I was sitting with her in a café drinking tea. After five minutes of me expressing how sorry I was, any tension that was previously in the air vanished and chatted as if we were friends. In fact, after that meeting, we actually became good friends. Bonnie and I ended up dating for a couple years and during that time, her mother, Suzanne, became a second mother to me. One of first jobs as a teenager was working in the very café where we met for the second time. She was a regular there and she pulled some strings with the owner to get me the job. Eventually she made a set of keys for me to their apartment and would hire me to walk Jojo whenever they would leave town and could take him along. She came to visit my mother in the hospital after surgery. She even flew me out to Houston (which was my first time on a plane) to see Bonnie when she was staying with her father for the summer. After my relationship with Bonnie ended, (partially due to my ongoing promiscuous behavior) the relationship I had with Suzanne naturally dissolved, which was expected, but until this day I probably still have a stronger relationship with her mother. I still randomly bump into her from time to time and our rapport with one another picks up right where it left off. Her allegiance obviously lies with her daughter and not the guy who broke her daughter’s heart in high school so our random encounters are brief but there is always a feeling of mutual respect, and from my side, appreciation that she was able to look past how we first met and see me for the nice guy that I am. Whoever said you don’t get a second chance at a first impression was clearly wrong and my relationship with my ex-girlfriend’s mom is the proof in the pudding.  

If you go to Sugar Hill as a tourist, this is what you will see. Very wide streets and townhouses that make you wonder. You might see fifty African Muslims coming out of their house of worship or you might see a couple of fly Mexicans sitting on a stoop, drinking coronas. If you walk to Amsterdam you will definitely see Dominicans outside, maybe having a barbeque, maybe playing dominoes, maybe smoking a blunt, maybe listening to music or maybe just enjoy the fresh air waiting for their turn to get a haircut, but they will be there. Keep walking and you will notice a theme, bodegas. If not every block then every other block you will see a bodega. It will almost feel like deja vu and you will start to question whether you are walking around in circles. Inside these bodegas, working at the counter, without fail, you will find an adult Arabic male, usually from Yemen. About thirty percent of the time there will be a teenager, about ninety nine percent of the time the same Mexicans you saw sitting on the stoop enjoying their corona will be the same person behind the grill ready to make you a hot sandwich and about eighty percent of the time if you survey the bodega with a keen eye you will see a cat lounging somewhere looking very comfortable. If you go to sugar hill by train it is likely you will take Duke Ellington’s advice and take the A train, but the three letters that follow can also drop you off in sugar hill. If you have no yet been a Broadway show please save your money and hang out in the in or around the train station for entertainment that can compete with some of the best around the world. Comedians, singers, dancers, actors all hang out in these high traffic areas, ready to display their talents for less than a fraction of the cost of what you will pay elsewhere. Amongst these entertainers are a few alcoholics and possibly some drug addicts but there is a very thin line between show business and substance abuse. If you come to sugar hiill with an open mind you will be amazed at what you will learn and the things you will see. The smell of creativity lingers in the air and the feeling of community will make you feel strong. Don’t be surprised if a random person says hi or you order a six-piece chicken wing meal and get seven. When you come to sugar hill music is your friend, seldom will you walk down the street and not hear something that excites your ears. Whether it be a group of friends parked on the street with their car door open playing their new song fresh from the studio, an old lady woman coming from work humming her favorite song, the birds chirping in unison or the that same Mexican who made your sandwich jamming to one of his tunes, with a corona in his hand of course. You won’t have to look far to get what you need in sugar hill. There is always a hustler within arm’s length that will have no problem servicing you, making you feel right at home. That being said, if you are looking for a problem, that is also something you will find. Even sometimes when you aren’t looking for it. Wrong place, wrong time happens in sugar hill so when you get here, if there was only one thing to remember, it would be to mind your business. That is a general rule of thumb for any big city and especially in Harlem. It may not be as dangerous as what you have heard but it can get a lot more dangerous than what you have heard. A wrong look can arouse suspicion and suspicion can, and will be seen as a threat. There might not be time to explain that you have never seen a man with a scar across his whole face. Please mind your business. When you come to sugar hill you might wonder why they call it sugar hill, originally, over 1 hundred years ago it was a representation of the sweet life African Americans enjoyed, especially during the Harlem renaissance when African American culture was being displayed to the world. This slice of Harlem was like no other place in the world and just knowing that a community of successful African Americans existed is enough to get you to come and feel the history for yourself. Edgecombe avenue will feel like a backdoor, St. Nicholas avenue is an architectural, most notably with a mansion shining on the corner of 150^th street, that originally belonged to the one and only James Anthony Bailey of the Barnum and Bailey Circus. Convent is much of the same but even more extravagant, or feels that way at least, due to the lack of any commercial real estate. One of the most eye pleasing set of residential housing in the city. Make your way back to Amsterdam and you can hear the noise from Broadway echoing through the avenue. This is sugar hill, enjoy your stay and say hi to the Mexican sitting on the stoop drinking his corona when you see him making your sandwich.

Waking up out of his deep sleep at two in the morning, Tony rolled over to the nightstand on the left side of his bed to answer his phone. “Yo”

“What’s good? Where you at?”

“I’m in the crib, what’s good?” Tony knew exactly what Mike was calling about at this hour, the only real question was how much he wanted.

“I’m about to hit this party in BK, I need three grams.”

“Aight, pull up to the crib, just call me when you get here, I’ll buzz you up.”

“Aight, bet, good lookin’, I should be there in like 20, I’ll hit you.” Tony hung up the phone, rolled back over and returned to a sleepy state immediately. Night calls like this weren’t uncommon but if Tony had it his way, he would always prefer to do his business during the day. Something about the uncertainty of the night left Tony feeling uneasy when he stepped out to make a sale. For someone who had not been involved with drugs for a long time, he had built a reputation for being one of the most reliable, high quality cocaine dealers in Sugar Hill, only choosing to do business with people he knew on a personal level but he has been around long enough to have seen some of his friend put away in jail for multiple years.

Mike was one of his regular customers, who he met while working as a bartender. Besides serving him cocktails, they bonded over writing, as Mike is a Journalist and Tony always had a love for documentaries. He favored Documentaries on famous drug dealers, which is partially how he started selling drugs in the first place and partially why he gets this funny feeling every time he steps out late night to make a sale. He couldn’t help but think about how good everything was going for drug dealers until they got caught and their life was ruined. Tony was nowhere near a drug kingpin and had no aspirations to be but selling cocaine was an easy way to a thousand dollars a week, yet Tony knew very well of all the consequences that came with the business. The goal was to save as much money as he could until the end of the year and then transition go back to school to study journalism. In that sense, Mike was not just a client, but an inspiration. He wanted to be known for his art and not for selling cocaine.  If there was ever a documentary made about him, he wanted it to be about something positive and not how he got caught up selling coke and imprisoned for the rest of his life, or even worse, killed. Thankfully, violence was never something Tony worried about too often but in this business, it is rare that someone dealing with this much is able to get in and out without a scratch. These are all the things that stay on Tony’s mind and as good as things could be financially, the thought of the dark side of selling drugs always loomed over him.

Tony awoke to pitch black silence as he waiting for Mike to call him and decided to turn the TV on so he wouldn’t fall back asleep. As a deep sleeper he knew that what was intended to be a cat nap could easily turn into a 8 hour sleep session. Cartoons was his late night go-to and this time he opted for Tom and Jerry. As soon as he put it on his phone rang. “Yo, my bad I got caught up with these stupid girls but I’m parked right on the corner, just getting a sandwich from the deli real quick, can you come and meet me?”

“Yea, I got you which deli? Broadway or Amsterdam?”

“Amsterdam.”

“Ok, see you in a minute.” Tony got up, put on a hoodie and filled the pocket with his phone, keys, wallet, and three grams of coke. He guzzled a glass of water and put on his slippers then he was out the door. Still in his pajamas as he walked out of the front door to his apartment building, he felt a chill in the air that made him second guess not wearing a jacket and real shoes but he knew he wouldn’t be outside for more than five minutes, just long enough to say hi, make his sale and walk back home. When he got to the corner of Amsterdam, he didn’t see Mike’s car so he went in the Deli and Mike wasn’t in there either. A bit cold and frustrated, he calls Mike. First time there was no reply so he calls again. Second time, no reply. “Where the fuck is he at? It’s brick”, Tony mumbled in angerly to himself. “Fuck it, I’m out. Dude made me come outside and he’s ghost.” Tony then started to speed walk back to his apartment, it felt as if the wind was picking up but he was almost home. Just a few doors away from his building he sees a man looking toward his direction smoking a cigarette. The man starts to walk in Tony’s direction with a heavy step, so he moves to the side but the man moves to the side with him. Tony then turns around to see another gentleman speed walking towards him. “What the fuck is this!” Tony yelled, but before he could say anything else the two men grabbed him and the strength of both of them against Tony was just too much. He tried his best to wiggle his way out of their arms but the more he tried to move, the tighter their grasp got.

“You’re under arrest!”

Tossing and turning, shaking and sweating, Tony opened his eyes and rolled over to see five missed calls from Mike. He was in such a deep slumber with so much on his mind that the criminal version of his life’s documentary previewed in his sleep. It wasn’t a good feeling but he was happy it was just a dream. If there was any sign to stop selling cocaine this dream was it.

A semester’s worth of writing about New York, ya dig?

A semester’s worth of writing about New York, ya dig?