Dream Among the Fog

The young man took a circuitous route home with his girlfriend Amy.  The night had seemingly evaporated and the hour grew late on the cheerless subway.  

The two had spent the evening in the company of Amy's friend Ethan, a law student at Pace.  The handsome young man had a bright faced young woman in tow, Sheri.  Ethan and Sheri met the couple at a swanky speakeasy in the West Village.  Their other friend Lauren came along as well but she didn't have a man.

The young man had visions of a previous era something reminiscent of Mad Men.  Strong cocktails with names as dusty as the walls rotated among the group.  Musical drinks.  The jump and jive of the background jazz peppered the atmosphere in the place.  One drink was enough for both the wallet and the soul. The group departed.

Sheri knew an old college roommate who was boozing nearby in Chelsea.  The roommate had a boyfriend, who according to campus legend at Sheri's alma mater had many unsavory characteristics, some smaller than others.  

The roommate had difficulty speaking on account of her heavy intoxication.  She mustered a fit of giggles in painful unison with Sheri's cackle.  That left the young man to bear the numbing commentary of the boyfriend.  

"I know a glass of water smarter than this guy," the young man thought while looking the boyfriend in the eye.

He was training to be a cop.  Of course this revelation for normalcy and a career came only after string of jobs on ranches and farms.  The young man regretted letting the cretin turn his brain to putty.

The young man wished it were a dream.  The wish was later realized.

Swirls of memories collided into a smoky aftermath.  His sleep became Vietnam, the boyfriend his Vietcong.

He awoke in the middle of the night terrified someone might slice his face with the edge of a broken bottle.

Lucky Star

The Lucky Star Bus Line had a dubious title at best. There was nothing lucky, twinkling, or satisfactory about the young man's experience on the ride from New York to Boston.

Midwood quickly became the worst hell on earth in the young man's mind.

There was more to this tale of sorrow.

Little Birds

They chirped up in unexpected spurts like spring birds. The people along the streets of New York would join in on the couples playing. Joking and commenting were common among these affable types, and it inspired much confidence in the young man.

He knew it to be a more friendly gesture than what he was raised to accept. The South had its rules and routes to friendly manners, but it also lacked substance in many instances. Someone would greet you in a friendly way even though they possessed no true feelings of affection in any sense for you.

New Yorkers didn't scare easily.

All the scary and horrible and terrifying things that could possibly happen in the world already happened in New York... twice. Needless to say that telling someone exactly what was on their mind was the least of their concerns. They didn't act out in an attempt to shock someone but rather would offer up something funny. Lighthearted requests for fifty pushups or race challenges came across as jovial rather than confrontational.

Morning Adventure

Most of his adventures happened after work in the gray sunshine of a Midwood afternoon.  The prospects for adventures were becoming increasing limited for the young man.  The sun slipped out of the sky earlier and earlier.

"Time to be a morning person," he dreamt.

The digitized tones blared out of his somewhat dated flip cell phone.  The young man used gravity to carry him over during his slow roll toward the bedside table.  Somehow he shuffled to the shower.  7:25 a.m. was a full hour before he usually woke up.  

He arrived at One World Plaza for his meeting.  The view from the 35th floor exposed the west side of the island as well as the New Jersey riverbank.  The view took his breath away.  The tops of skyscrapers lined up in front of him like cornfields basking in the glorious morning sun.  

He ate a bagel after the meeting.  He found out later that this morning adventure was more successful than he expected.  He would be a New Yorker for longer.  He would be paid.  He got the job.  

A sense of achievement washed over him.  

A Step Closer

He waited for the second set of buzzing from the phone.  The alarm went off at 4:30 am.  The young man wasn't sure what he was about to go do.  His vague impression was this adventure would be a labor of love.  He waited just a couple minutes in bed.  Awake but not mobile.  He had to stay put until his mind was clear and void of any desire for just five more minutes.

The train ride took longer than usual.  It struck the young man as a refreshing way to take the subway.  In the early morning, there were no crowds, and there was relatively no noise.  He freely poured into his book.  Everything went well until another young man boarded the same car and began strumming a guitar and singing and blowing a harmonica.  The performance was unwelcome at 5 in the morning.  The musician's tip can reflected the annoyance of the rest of the passengers.  

He rushed out of the Rockefeller Center station and headed for the line.  It was long.  83 people or more.  They slept on the sidewalk in Midtown Manhattan just for the chance to get a ticket.  SNL drew quite a dedicated and groggy crowd.  

He wished the alarm was set sooner.  He wouldn't know that until nearly the next day.  Nine people away from entering the studio, the young man learned that evening was to be spent somewhere else.

The Man with the Purple Feather Earring

The young man lived in a time of cultural fracture complete with a borrowed sense of nostalgia, senseless imagery, and cowardice.  New York City was the perfect place for him to view this bizarre show.  It was the cultural capital of America, if not the world.  Anything that happened in the world, New York forgot about it two weeks previous.  

Strange people flocked to the city, but that was as obvious as saying the sky is blue, water is wet, or football is simply the best.  For the most part many of the odd behaviors and fashions sported by New Yorkers faded into the background.  Some might warrant a momentary second glance.  Those generally fell into categories of hysterical tirades by old men concerning the subway turnstile and unusually, heartbreaking sights of homelessness.  On rare occasions though, there were noteworthy wierdos.

This was the first noteworthy wierdo the young man observed during his stay in New York City.  It also happened on the second day of October, commonly understood to be the spookiest month of all time.  This had nothing to do with the sighting.

The young man, his loving girlfriend Amy, her sister Amanda, and the friend of Amanda also named Amy (hereon referred to as Amy of Philly) had finished lunch at Quantum Leap in the East Village.  It was a delicious meal of vegan comfort food.  His black bean burger tasted better than most burgers he had regularly and it was bugger.  There was soy bacon on it too.  With appetites satiated, Amy, Amanda, and Amy of Philly informed the young man it was their plan to shop around the stores on 5th Ave.  He went along.  

An hour went by.  The last store overlooked Union Square which crawled with all kinds in the city twilight.  The young man waited outside.  It was here he spotted his subject.  

A man no older than thirty five stood in the middle of the sidewalk dressed head to toe in all black.  His clothes were made of fabric one would expect for exercise.  The pants were skinny and appeared coarse, velcroing tightly at the bottom of his leg.  He wore a rain resistant black top that could be found at any camping outfitter.  Upon his head was a black ski cap.  The ensemble came together wonderfully with the single purple feather earring he sported.  The young man thought he was a bike messaging pirate of some mysterious olive skinned nation.

The plot thickened like poorly attended molasses.  The man would pace around in a tight circle.  Every fifth women that would pass him he would approach them and say something the young man couldn't really make out.  The pirate seemed in search of booty.  He held a pen in his hand in order to get some phone numbers.  

Not a single woman even looked at him for fifteen minutes.  He would approach, get shut down, and then say, "That's cool.  Your loss."  He was shut down by at least fifty women.  

"He must be one of those pickup artist guys...what an idiot," he thought.

He was.

Goodbye September

Towards the end of the month, he was running low on funds.  The healthy stipend the university provided went quickly in New York.  New York invented expensive.  The young man promised never to forget this first and perhaps most important truth of his temporary home.

No more cab rides.  No more long nights out at the bar.  He knew it would be two months of cheap booze, free entertainment, and sloth like transport.  

He witnessed an uplifting sign to his new habits.  He left his fancy schmanczy show biz paper shuffle for the subway.  Talking to his friend several hundred miles away, he noticed two men get on the subway.  One had a red suitcase that had the wheels on the bottom, and the other held a plastic cup with two ice cubes in it.  The cup wore the wrinkles of extensive usage.  

"My god...a dirty bomb.  I'll call the MTA!" he thought all by his lonesome.

As was happening frequently, the young man let his imagination get hold of him.  The suitcase man removed a handle of Smirnoff Vodka and filled the cup with a shot.  The cup guy slammed the drink on a completely full passenger car.  Twice more this process went on.  Then the cup guy got off after only two stations.  

He would have explained this to his doting girlfriend, Amy, but she would have put it down in the "day party" category of lies and deceitful statements by the young man.

Grand Army Plaza

He finished his duties at his fancy show biz job.  He closed the binder of "to do's," collected his satchel, and headed out the door while wishing a good night to his coworkers.  Apparently, only one of the three heard him and returned the sentiment.  He liked the response, even if it was as automatic as the sun rising in the east.

The fried chicken tenders he ate for lunch sat at the bottom of his stomach like a ton of bricks.  On his way to the subway, he noticed a massive ass belonging to a woman of titanic proportions.  

"That's it...today I start running again...again."  he declared in private.

A quick ride north on the Q train got him home and changed.  He hesitated.  He knew hesitation to ruin even the best of intentions concerning a workout.  He grew especially concerned because his hesitation manifested itself in the form of an aimless jaunt on the internet.  Even deadlier.  The chances of this workout happening seemed next to nil.  Then he remembered the woman he had seen 22 minutes prior and sped out the door.

By the time he reached Prospect Park, all of a mile away, his lungs were trying their best to play possum.  The young man felt that if he continued to run even just one more step that he would die on the sidewalk in sweaty clothes.  He had a better idea.  Walking.

He commenced to walk around Prospect Park starting at the Lincoln Street entrance.

"Much better." the lungs said.

He circled around the park on the walking path.  He saw several pickup soccer games, faster runners, and dogs.  The best sight was coming to the Grand Army Plaza.  A magnificent arch with a chariot atop it seemed to say, "Welcome to Brooklyn," to the young man.

Celebrate Yom Kippur in Midwood

The deserted streets worried the young man.  He tried to read his book during his walk from the Avenue J station to his fancy job in entertainment.  It took him through neighborhoods one could mistake for suburbia, not Brooklyn.  The naive young man didn't realize that even a city as massive and imposing as New York has its rather pedestrian nooks.  

Random articles of trash lined the streets.  A long row of houses ushered the boy almost all the way to his job.  Then he came upon the usually bustling epicenter of Midwood, near the defunct Avenue M stop.  Not a soul in sight.  All the storefronts shuttered close by owners taking the day off.  

"Is today a weekday?"  the young man thought.  

He knew though that Yom Kippur celebrations were taking place throughout the quiet streets of Midwood.  He knew this yet he could not shake the uneasy feeling the unpopulated streets gave him.  The place always seemed to have one foot in the grave compared to the rest of New York City, but this day it practically felt like a ghost town.  

He went home and didn't eat dinner.  Bad mojo in the air made his tummy upset.

Plague

So there they were, nestled in the big city.  The young man and his girlfriend had New York by the shoestring.  They walked, subwayed, and traveled around town with such ease that strangers began asking them for directions.  

Everything was well for a time.  Until the sickness came.  First it struck the young man with a very sore throat.  He woke up in the middle of the night gasping for air.

"WATER." he yelled pathetically.

He spent the next day languishing in bed.  He even called in sick to his swanky show biz internship.  His girlfriend returned from work to dote on him, which she did.  Unfortunately, it was too late for her as well. The sickness had grabbed her.  The throat became scratchy and raw.  Quickly her health degenerated, and she too lay in bed unwell.

A week went by.  A week worth of tissues, Dayquil, and frantic searches of H1N1 on the internet made the time flash by.

Time heals all wounds.  The couple found this truth to be self-evident even in a city where time flies faster than most.

Cinco

They had each finished a day of work, their first one in the city.  Worn out and hungry, they quickly changed and went to the grocery on foot.  They descended the stairs gleefully but the mood soured upon reaching the front door.  Five uniformed police officers stood in front of 2016 Regent Place.

"That was scary.  Should we stay and watch?"  Amy asked.

"It probably isn't such a good idea to see."  the young man said.  

The neighborhood started to scare the young man some.  He wasn't overly worried, but the initial excitement of arriving in the city was wearing.  He became less awe-inspired and more observant, like the difference between a fan and a security guard.  

Picnic!

Nothing makes Labor Day a proper picnic in the park.  The young couple knew this fact of life and acted accordingly by making plans for Prospect Park.  The remnants of the West Indian Street Festival walked about in dazzling costumes showing equal amounts of bright color and naked skin.  Feathers exploded from the headdress like fountains of hyper blue paint.

They got home to their roomy apartment.  The young man relaxed while Amy made sandwiches.  She had lost a bet about where the subway station was located.  She dutifully prepared a pepperoni, salami, and cheese sandwich for the young man and a peanut butter and jelly for herself.  Even better though the salsa she made last night had set in the fridge overnight and was ready to be consumed. 

They feasted in the park while watching a group of volleyball players rally against each other.  The young man worried that the players would accidentally knock over the chicken they were grilling with an errant shot.  The players were fortunate.

"I need a drink sooo badly," she whimpered. 

"Me too.  Let's go."

After the park, they settled back home for a mid-afternoon nap, but not before Al from 2A was able to force a delicious hot link sausage on the young man.

New Friends

Amy read the text message from her old high school friend Jon.  He also had just moved to New York about a month before and invited Amy and the young man out to a party in a "tiny apartment" in Greenwich Village.  Jon had met the hosts of the party the previous evening after participating in Beerlympics.  His memory was hazy from the night.

The couple arrived at the apartment after taking the train to the West 4th street exit.  They were standing at the border of Greenwich Village and the NYU area.  Masses of people walked, stood, and scurried about all in their separate worlds, their own New York Citys.  They made their way into Greenwich hand in hand.  

Quickly Amy located Jon outside on the stoop waiting for them.  The young man and Jon met for the first time right there.  Jon appeared to model himself after Judd Apatow from his style of facial hair and sharp sense of humor.  They buzzed into the building where they met Matt, a friend of Jon.  Matt and Jon worked together on movie productions together, and now they lived in the same city.  

The apartment stretched at its widest point to the size of a hallway.  In fact, it probably had been a hallway that the owner decided to throw a wall around, place a couple of beds inside, and rename an artist studio.  Ten or so actor/film production types sat around drinking in good spirits.  Gregorrio, one of the attendents, approached the young man and introduced himself.  

"Hello, I'm Gregorrio." he said.

"Hi, Gregorrio." the young man replied.

They talked about living in New York and how to adjust to the lifestyle.  Gregorrio was a culinary student.  He strongly and with a slight theatrical air advocated t explore the city and it food.  Gregorrio also recommended to avoid thee street hot dogs for a few months, just so the body could get used to New York.

Eventually, Jon and Matt went outside to meet their friend Thomas who had come over to the party.  Amy and the young man were making friends left and right.  They decided to leave the small party though.  Jon was receiving an uncomfortable amount of attention from a young lady named Emily at the party.  

The crew was now expanded.  The couple attached itself to Jon, Matt, and Thomas.  They journeyed to various destinations around Manhattan in pursuit of some of Jon's coworkers.  It didn't really work because the coworkers were selecting some truly lame destinations.  The time was not misspent though as the group coalesced.  The decision was then made to venture to Williamsburg for the remainder of the evening.  Armed with copious amounts of libations, the five crammed into a taxi bound for Brooklyn.  

Cool air chilled the young ones as they drank on a rooftop in Williamsburg.  Manhattan stretched out in front of them.  It looked small and manageable almost.  Too quickly did the young man forget the multitudes of people layered on top of one another in that city.  Good times and cheer spread amongst the group well until 4 a.m.  Jon mentioned something about a Cheryl.  

The couple laid down to bed on a leather futon graciously offered by their host.  They woke up with back pain but a sense of relief knowing they had made some new friends.

The Doomed Transportation Disaster

Stars lit the night sky above New York.  He and a friend from high school wandered outside before a concert at Terminal 5, a massive venue on the west side of Manhattan.  They found a park to pass the time before the next act.  New Jersey was on the other side of the river.  The friend joked, "The geese go over there to use the bathroom."  Just at that moment a flock flew over the young men heading straight for New Jersey.  

Walking in to a crowded hallway of the venue, he heard thunderous bass and snapping beats of Flying Lotus.  A giant crowd filled the three floor club all pulsating as best they could with the rapidly changing rhythm of the man on stage.  Flying Lotus slammed beers in between careful pauses in the insanity he pumped into the room.

The night went on and more bands played.  Leaving the venue the group decided to find another old high school friend in Williamsburg.  The young man had secret reservations about this because there is no easy or cheap way to get back to Flatbush from Williamsburg.  The excitement of seeing his old friend won out.  It was midnight.

It was four a.m.  They had met the friend and his friends as well.  They were well dressed architecture students.  The young man had a felt more underdressed than everyone in New York since getting there.  This night was no different.  The groups had converged at Larry Lawrence, a little secret of a bar hidden by its lack of visible storefront.  But that was hours ago because now the entire group had made their way to Sugarland, a gay disco in the middle of urban wasteland.  The boy got hit on a little.  "Hm, what would my girlfriend make of this?"  he thought to himself.  After chatting with the door lady about being new in the city,  it was time to go to bed.  

He decided to take a taxi back to Flatbush.  The cabbie did not know where he was talking about.  He then made a very unwise split decision to go all the way to Columbia from Williamsburg.  His girlfriend was staying up there; so, he figured it would be a surprise to see her.  It was.  It was not a good surprise though because when he finally contacted her with a complete strangers cell phone at 5 a.m. she had to leave the apartment and couldn't get them back up.  They were in a bit of a fix.  To take the subway would be at least an hour and a half.  He paid $50 for a taxi.  The car snaked along the western edge of Manhattan until they snuck across the river into Manhattan.  It was 6 a.m.  

Mimi's Hummus

Donning a western shirt and brown cowboy boots, the freshly shaved man struggled up four flights of stairs carrying two over packed suitcases.  Amy trudged behind him with heavy bags as well.  They were feeling exhausted and hungry.  

Kirby, their landlord, looked differently than he did on the webcam a month prior.  He appeared more built and athletic than his face seemed over the computer.  He also had to schlep some of the couples belongings up the stairs.  

It seemed they made a classic mistake of packing too much for their stay in New York.  Maybe not though.  After the heavy lifting, the young man, his girlfriend, and their landlord left the apartment and headed for Courtelyou Rd for some well earned nourishment.  Kirby and the man discussed Canadian television on their way to the row of restaurants and cafes.  Pointing out some of his favorites, Kirby gave the couple a brief but informative map of the neighborhood.  He had to run off to his wife.

They were alone to figure it out now.  Amy and the man were faced with the ultimate decision of where to enjoy their first meal in NYC.  After some deliberation and walking, the two decided to try Mimi's Hummus.  The restaurant was small but smartly decorated.  The cuisine was nouveau Middle Eastern.  Amy ordered the tappas hummus, and he got the special, a chicken meatball dish served with tabouli.  One word came to his mind over and over again, "YUM!"

"Where to next?" he pondered.

   

The Adventure Begins!

There he was napping in his uncomfortable Southwest airplane seat while the plane sat like a beached whale on the tarmac of the Baltimore airport.  He crushed his head into the tight void of the headrest and the window, but he didn't care that his spine slowly coiled into something resembling  a curly fry because he was going to New York.  

The two of them arrived at Laguardia much later than they expected.  An hour and a half to be exact.  Amy, his girlfriend, calmed the young man by suggesting, "Why don't you just calm down ya freak."  She always had a special way with him.  The private cabbie whisked them off into the stream of cars bound for familiar destinations like Madison Square Garden, Harlem, the Statue of Liberty, and Kat's Delicatessen.  Stop, go, stop, go.  The sudden jerking of the car brought on a feeling of slight indigestion in him.  "Why did I eat Arby's of all days," he wondered privately. 

Flatbush, the neighborhood which they were to live in the next four months, welcomed them loudly as people shuffled and bumped their way about on the sidewalks just outside their car.  Horns honked.  Vendors vended.  People yelled.  He was frightened, excited, and still queesy from the Arby's.