I arrived in New York City on early Monday morning. I’ve recently got a new job. It was the best thing that happened to me in a long time, getting a new job. After eight months of nothingness, misery, and unemployment, I was a decent human being again. I was back to normal. I could even write again. There was no need to hustle and no need to live on my last dollar anymore. I began to work for a major and well-known financial institution. I was a contract employee, and even though contractors are never even remotely close to employees in terms of general compensation and benefits and all that good shit that we all are thriving for, I was happy at last. I felt like I’ve made it. I, who came from nothing, who came to this country with nothing more than two bags of bullshit and high hopes for a brighter future, have finally made it. I was able to graduate from one of the top business schools in Philly. I worked for various companies, from real estate to medical devices to fucking financing. And here I was, the major player has offered me a new gig. This Company’s name I could proudly put on my resume as one that will open so many opportunities and doors for me in this country where both idiots and dreamers have an equal chance. 

I have booked a hotel right by Times Square, on 47th Avenue, in the “tourist’s heart” of New York, the Big Apple, the City of all the Cities, the power, the money, the big shot, the big shit. I never knew before that my Company had three different buildings in the Manhattan area. Two were across the street from each other in midtown, which reminded me of the Twin Towers. The third one was 15 miles away, downtown. Of course, I booked my hotel closer to the two across the street from one another since I thought that was where I was going to. I was wrong. The lady at the front desk has told me that the building I was looking for is on the other side of Manhattan, downtown. Fuck. I took another cap for another $20 to go to the other side of Town. I paid and walked out with my laptop bag and the mid-size travel luggage bag, and the fucking umbrella which I had to purchase first coming out of the train station. It has been raining in New York since the early morning, and the forecast wasn’t any better for the next few days.

I decided to stop by the nearest Starbucks. I’ve ordered myself a double espresso; I needed the energy for the first day at work in the Big Apple. New York, as always, needed all your life and all of your money. I was soon to meet my manager in person for the first time, based out of New York (I lived in Philadelphia). I had to be in good spirits, proper mindset, and the right mood with a lot of energy to show all of my good spirits. I somehow needed to express my enthusiasm for the job and the Company and the whole trip to New York City. I was invited to come over for a few days to work together and meet the new team. 

I arrived at the office around 9:15 am, not too bad for the first time considering getting lost. I’ve asked at the front desk if I need any permission to go up to the 11th floor and showed the lady my Company’s ID. She said I was OK to go up with no sign-in necessary.  I thanked her, she smiled, I smiled back at her and said, “You have a nice day.” I scanned my card at the machine, then walked up to the elevators and pressed a button for floor 11. I knew that very soon, I will be where I wanted to be and that I need to fucking shine. I walked out of the elevator and scanned my badge. It didn’t work. The guy who was following me checked his, and the doors opened. He held them for me. I thanked him and walked in. I had no idea where to go, so I went up straight ahead. I reached the end of the corridor, there was nothing and nobody there, so I returned to the entrance. I’ve decided to call my manager to have him meet me at the front door. As I walked back and started to search for his number on my phone. He and the girl walked from around the corner and were going to their cubicles. He saw me. He recognized me and started to walk towards me. I did the same. The girl was another newly hired employee who became my personal supervisor, a middle-person between the job, this guy-manager, and myself.

“Hi, I said, how are you? Nice to meet you.” He said the same and walked me to my potential cubical.

“Take this one, try to log in, and get your phone set up.”

I looked at the desk. There were two screens, the desk, the chair, and no keyboard.

“There is no keyboard,” I said. 

“Oh,” he said, “Try the other one over there,” he said, pointing at the cubical 10 feet away. “Meet Jess; she is joining our team as of today. Jess, this is John. He is working in our Philadelphia office.” 

“Nice to meet you,” I said, and she did the same. 

“Welcome on board,” I said proudly and kind of stand-offish since I was just hired two weeks prior.

She wasn’t much of a looker, but she was a business girl, and she was from New York, she had a Jewish last name, and she had a black dress, showing some nice legs. That is an attractive look in the office setting – a young businesswoman in a tight black dress and nice pair of legs. She smiled; I smiled back and went over to my potential cubical. I was able to log in to my computer but couldn’t log in to my phone. Fuck, I thought, these technological issues just never end for me. No matter what I do, something always wouldn’t work for me. There is always something wrong with my phone or computer, my access, my program, or whatever. 

The workday has officially begun. I was on it. I’ve sent some emails; I’ve followed up on the shit from last week. This was Monday, my first day in New York City, and I was having a blast. I was fucking killing it. I’ve talked to my manager, we had a plan, I have made it all work. It was my fucking day. I was the shit. I think that double espresso from Starbucks indeed helped me to keep my poor’s men’s spirits up. I felt like I was on cocaine, not that I ever was; it just felt like it, I thought. I was like a fucking lightning and the thunder. I was getting shit done. I worked and walked around the office like it is the last day on Earth, and I was the last man standing.

My manager always looked stressed. He had his own issues. He was too fucking overwhelmed with everything they put on him. He assumed the new role recently and was building his new team. He was too nice of the guy to deal with all that corporate shit, but he did. He had his reasons. He was making his way up, making shit happen just like me. That’s why I liked the guy. I thought he liked me as well. I am a person that can feel right off the bet whether or not I can have a good working relationship with another person. There are people who I just cannot stand, and there are people with who I can have a tremendous fucking conversation and make good connections. Poor fucking guy didn’t even have time to get us, his new team, together and just had a general introduction session or a lunch together. He was busy with his own shit. His own shit mattered the most. 

The day was gone by quickly. As the clock turned 6 pm, I said, “Good night guys”, they were still there, pretending to work. I thought, fuck I am getting hungry. I had my lunch at 1 pm, and between now and when I get to my hotel on the other side of the globe, take a shower and go out, I could starve to fucking death.  I took an Uber for $32 to get me to my hotel. The ride was long and tedious and took over 40 minutes. New York was as busy at 6 pm as it was at 6 am. New York was always busy. That fucking City never had time to rest. It makes you restless, and you can feel it in the first minute coming out of the train station. It is a clusterfuck. New York’s traffic is the fucking worst, and I am not the first to tell you this. Finally, I saw my hotel’s sign, a couple of blocks from where we were. The Uber stuck in traffic, not moving, and I thought fuck that. I told the driver, “I will get out right here. I see the hotel sign already. I’ll be alright. Thank you, man!” He thanked me, and I took my bags and an umbrella and walked out of the car.

I’ve smoked my cigarillo the first thing out of that Uber and thought about how fucking excited I am about hanging out here in the New York City, the City of all Cities, the Greatest City in the world just by myself with nobody to stop me, with nobody to report to with nobody at all in the whole fucking universe. I kept on walking towards my hotel. It took me about 10 minutes with all the hustling. 

I was standing a line to check-in; I was the third one in line. When my time was up, I walked towards the front desk and greeted the receptionist girl. I gave her my booking page-confirmation printed out and my ID. She said that the king-size room that I have initially booked was not available, but she could give me a queen-size for $30 less. I told her that that was OK with me. The difference will make up for my fucking Uber fair from the office. She processed the booking, and I have signed the paper form. She gave me the keys, and I left, walking towards the elevator to get to the 20th floor, room 2023, where I would be living for the next two days. New York City, here I am.

I was eager to go to the shower. I was so excited that I masturbated in the bathroom. I took a shower and dressed in my jeans, black shirt, and my navy blazer. I got my credit card, ID, room key, cigarillos, a lighter. I sprayed some MuntBlank perfumes on me and went out. It was still daylight outside, and I was hungry. I was walking around looking for a place to eat. Times Square was the place that made your head spin. There were so many people all the time, so much and nothing going on at the same time that I had a tough time getting myself focused. I didn’t know where to go anymore. I turned the corner, and I was there, in the center of it all, Times Square. 

Times Square is the busiest place in the world, I suppose. There were many people, walking in different directions, taking pictures, looking everywhere, bumping into each other. I walked about a block away and saw the TGI. Friday’s. I walked in. I told the girl at the door that I need a table for one, close to the bar. She walked me towards my table. I ordered a Stella and a burger. Stella arrived in about 5 minutes and the burger in the next 20. I was starving, as it has been 8 hours since I had eaten anything. I ate it all until nothing was left on the plate. I’ve paid and walked off. 

Times Square was overwhelmed with a lot of people. I’ve smoked another cigarillo and kept on walking, trying to find the next bar to sit down and to wind down. I’ve Googled bars around me with live music, and Google found something nearby for me. I walked toward that destination, but as always, I have derailed. I found another bar on my way, and there was live music too. I could hear it. I went in. 

There was a guy near the entrance who was both the security, the greeting personnel, and a housekeeper. I said, “Hi, can I come in?” He said sure, and I walked towards the bar. The bar was positioned right in the middle of the room. There were a bunch of people sitting around the bar and by the tables around the room. I thought I needed to sit somewhere away from everyone else. 

I walked around and near the back wall in the middle was a guy with a guitar. He looked like Ken Hensley, the guitarist from Uriah Heep in his youth, playing his guitar and making all visitors feel at home. He was pretty good. I’ve got a Stella on the tab and sipped slowly, looking at the people around me and at the musician. He started with Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”, which sounded just fantastic in this bar setting. People were applauding and taking videos on their stupid smartphones. I’ve listened and watched him play, watched him changing the chords and trying to figure out how he was doing that. He finished with a song with loud applause around the room. This bar felt great; there was something in the air. Suddenly, the great vast New York became one small family enjoying simple little things. I loved it. I sipped on my beer some more. The next song was by Queen and David Bowie, “Under Pressure”. He did an excellent job on that one as well. After he finished, he looked around, then stopped at me as I was sitting at the corner of the bar, looking at him, waiting for the next song.

“Where are you from?” he asked, looking at me. What were the odds that he would ask me that? I knew I always attracted some weird attention from random people, and there was another time. In this bar, it was a thing to welcome anybody who walks in, give them a shout-out, sing them a song, and keep them in that bar for a while. Somebody in the largest city in the world has finally noticed and recognized you, great!

“Philly,” I said.

“Where? You out of Town?” he asked again with his hand next to his ear. His hearing was not good after playing all that loud music.

“Philly, Philadelphia!” I repeated louder.

“Oh, Philly, gotcha, welcome to New York. Do you play?”

“Not really,” I said, being shy, “Just a little,” I said to keep the conversation going. 

“You look like you play, that’s why I am asking. Welcome to New York!” he said and turned his head to the other side of the room.

“Who else is here? Where are you from?”

“Miami!” the drunken voice shouted.

“Miami’s in the house!” said the musician. “Who else, where are you from?

“Pittsburg!”

“Pittsburg, OK, good. Welcome you all to New York City! Now let’s continue.” 

He greeted everyone who came into the bar. It was nice of him. It was his job to make people feel good and welcome. It felt good to me too. You usually discover that all those street or bar musicians are from somewhere else as well, but they acted like they were locals and knew everything. He played another song; I wasn’t sure what that one was. Meanwhile, I finished my beer and looked at my watch. The watch showed 9:30 pm. I had plenty of time to kill. I decided to have another and go to the next bar. That was the plan.

I left a tip on the counter and left. The guy with a guitar continued to play, some fresh blood rolled into the bar, and he was greeting them and making them feel at home. I came around and was near Times Square again. This place has gotten even more crowded in the hour before and walking by was getting more difficult. I was constantly brushing against some strange people; it was getting harder to smoke in this crowd. I’ve decided I won’t go too far from here and decided to find the nearest bar. I found a Hard Rock restaurant right in front of me and decided to come in. Hard Rock was as always and just like any other place on Times Square, busy as fuck. I went to the bathroom first and found my spot at the bar. It was pointless to take a table for one. My logic at the bar was to sit somewhere as far from everybody else as possible. That made my experience more personal, and I didn’t have to deal with and talk to other people. I just wanted to be alone in the bar, drinking my beer and thinking my thoughts. I never cared very much to get involved in a random interaction with some strangers. I was a young and inspired writer, and I just wanted to be left alone. I just wanted to hide somewhere amongst the crowd and enjoy my drink in peace.

“How are you, sir? What can I get you to drink?”

“Stella, please,” said I.

“Would you like to see the food menu as well?” Bartender asked me.

“No, I’m good, thank you.”

He brought Stella, and I gave him my card. He opened my tap. I drank the beer slowly and looked around. Every Hard Rock was different but kind of similar inside. The main difference was the Rock memorabilia on display. Each place had its own. This place had a lot of shit from a bunch of famous musicians. I’ve looked at all these costumes, guitars, and other gear and wondered how in the hell did it get here. All that old useless stuff from all these, most of them dead now, musicians certainly created a special feeling in the room, especially if you were a Rock music fan. It was supposed to be a place where the rock maniacs would get together. I’ve looked around and seen many random people in here who have nothing to do with Rock or Roll or anything else. I knew they didn’t care about all that stuff; they just wanted to eat at someplace that is cool and interesting. I supposed most of these people around were the fucking tourists just like me.

The bar had quite a few TV screens, and various music videos were showing one after another. As the music history went in front of my eyes, I saw all those random videos, many of them from the ’80s, and funny enough, most of them had nothing to do with good old rock-n-roll. It was all so fucking commercialized, just like everything fucking thing in New York, especially Times Square. I sipped on my beer, sinking into my thoughts some more. I felt that this place had more light inside. The previous bar was so dark, but here I felt somewhat exposed. I felt that the beer was finally getting to me. My thoughts were moving slower, and my vision was getting a bit blurry. At last, I thought that I didn’t waste my money on anything. Now I was getting the return on my investment as some old-school rap video played on the TV in front of me. 

I looked around the bar at others sitting there as well. There was an older couple across from the bar. They were eating something and drinking their beer. There was nobody at the bar to the right of me, and to the left, a few girls were enjoying their drinks and talking with their phones in their hands. I spotted one, the best looking, the beautiful one. I thought to myself, “Who knows, this is New York City after all, and I am here all alone. I have a room to myself nearby. What are my odds? I might give it all a chance.” But no chance was needed after all. I ordered my second beer and the girls left a minute later. I hoped that maybe I could charm at least one of them, but it wasn’t a movie, and my charms didn’t work, or simply it got lost in the largest city in the world. A few years at the gym, sharp look, sad brown eyes, a full mop of black hair on my head, kind and honest smile, and nobody gave two shits about me. Maybe the bartender did while my tap was opened.

I finished my beer and ordered another one. The bar scene changed. Some new people arrived, taking their space at the tables; some people left. I noticed the loud crowd to the far right of me. These guys seemed to have a lot of fun there. I was sitting alone just watching people around me, then watching the TV screen and the memorabilia on the walls and then repeated it all over again. I felt weird for a moment. I was like, what in the fuck am I doing here drinking myself to stupor all alone in the strange City while on a work assignment? It felt weird just to look around at all those people and all those costumes and guitars. I felt as if somebody was watching me from the side. Someone might think that I am a weirdo or some sort of maniac. Now my paranoia was kicking in. For some reason, I really felt like I had to leave this place. Nothing was interesting for me here anymore. I finished my beer, paid my tap, left some tips for the bartender, and left. 

Walking out of there was a hustle too. There were more people around me and all over the place, more people trying to get in and get to their tables or restrooms or whatever. I just wanted to get the hell out of there fast. As I made it out and into the street, the sound and vision of New York’s Times Square greeted me sharply. There were always the sound of sirens, cars honking, people talking, laughing, and people pushing their way through, and all those digital advertisements of random shit everywhere just trying to get into your head and rape your brain. I felt like I am in some fucking madhouse. One just couldn’t get around without seeing an ad of some sort. In the way, it was the whole feel of Times Square, but I felt super annoyed by all those ads and the lights and the crowds. Everyone was busy with something, everyone was going somewhere, pretending like they knew where they were going, but I was sure that most of them were tourists just like myself, getting lost in the Big Apple, with no fucking idea. I took out another cigarillo and lit it. It was time to get back to my room, tomorrow’s work, and it was getting late. My hotel was a block away on the 6th, right around the corner from this madness. I walked, making my way around and smoking my worries away and into the nightly busy sky. I remembered that I had brought a bottle of red wine with me and looked forward to it.

I took an elevator up to my floor and strolled towards my room. Everything there was just as I left it. I had my laptop on the table and a bottle of wine, my travel bag with my clothes on the floor. I’ve opened the wine and poured myself a glass. My room was reasonably small, on the thirty-second floor. The bed to the left took most part of the room, and then there was a tiny writing desk next to it, right by the entrance with a coffee maker. It was a small but comfortable room. 

I thought about myself for a few minutes. Here I am right now, all alone but not lonely, in one of the largest cities in the world, up here on the thirty-second floor as the night comes around drinking my wine, in the nice hotel paid for by my Company. How did I get here? What have I done right or wrong? Just a month ago, I was an unemployed asshole with no opportunities or money. I’ve been out of a full-time job for the last eight months, and a random call from the recruiter changed everything for me. Now I’ve got my chance. Now I can prove to myself that I am worth something. Now I am getting a steady paycheck, and that’s pretty much all that matters.

I feel like there was the door, the tunnel, the light, the wine, and myself walking through it. The opportunities are endless. I am just at the beginning of it all. Where will I be a year from now? Can I make this work? I certainly feel like after so much time of useless existence, I am finally on the right track. It feels good to be on the right track. It feels good to have something to hope for and something to look toward. It was all real, New York City, the fancy hotel around the corner from Times Square, the job at the major finance company, new car lease, the wine, cigarillos, bars, restaurants, taxis, work travel… It wasn’t a movie. This was real. This was my life, and I’ve got to live it. I have to take advantage while I can. I felt fortunate and happy for myself at once. I haven’t been happy since I got fired about eight months ago. The eight months that will remain in my life’s history as dark, sad, grey, and miserable moments and a waste of my life. I felt special and fortunate to be where I am today. I don’t know what the next day will bring, I don’t know how I am going to wake up tomorrow for work with all that hangover, I don’t know what else is out there waiting for me, but I know for sure that life will keep on rocking my boat and there will be plenty of surprises, opportunities, failures, ups and downs, hangovers, paychecks, and other jobs. All I have to do is to make the most out of it and enjoy it while it lasts. 

I poured myself another glass of wine and stared at my laptop. I thought about Charles Bukowski back in his days, sitting somewhere in the small room of yet another boarding house or hotel, drinking cheap wine, listening to the classical music on the radio, and bleeding at the typewriter. Charles Bukowski was my major writing influence. After I read a few of his poems, something clicked inside of me. I was never the same since. There was this new life I’ve discovered, the writer’s life, that was so attractive, and it felt like a great escape from the shitty reality that I was living through. Bukowski wrote about an outcast’s challenging and brutal life in such a simple form using such a simple language that even to me, having zero literature experience, it all made so much sense. It resonated with me. I could live it in my thoughts about what he was writing about. I felt that I could write things too. I thought that this is what I really want to do in my life, more than anything else. The reality is not always wonderful and colorful as there are many dark moments to deal with. Regardless of how people cheat themselves with having great lives and everything being great, there is always a dark side. On the flip side, there is always a real and mean side to everything. Just last month, I was unemployed, and everything was dark and shitty. I am where I am, and the better days are here again. My contract will last for another three months, but what will happen afterward? Another dark moment? Who knows? I don’t want to know this anymore. I am alive now and living my life now, and all I care about is that now I can make the most out of it.

I opened my laptop, refilled my glass, and started writing. While I am going through these moments of my life and all these new experiences, and while the wine lasts in the bottle, I want to capture them while everything is fresh and hot and my page fills up fast. I put some classical music station on, and it felt better, and the writing came. I had enough events that happened today worth a short-story or two. As I typed my words away on the screen, I felt like wine was really getting into me. I made a lot of typos and didn’t bother to fix them. Let it all go, I thought. There will be another day to fix everything. After a while, I felt like I needed to smoke. I took my cigarillo, the lighter, and the room key and went outside. There were a few random people in the lobby going about their business. The check-in lines were not there anymore. A couple of new people recently arrived and at the front desk talking. I went out of the elevator and through the lobby, and toward the main entrance.  

The hotel was right off Times Square, but this little side street was not busy. I lit my cigarillo and exhaled a large cloud of smoke into New York’s polluted but calm evening air. I could see various lights and hear the noises coming from the Square on my right. I looked around and realized how small I am amongst those huge buildings in this colossal City. New York will make you disappear in its architecture amongst all those millions of people living and walking on top of each other, eating each other out. They say if you can make it in New York – you can make it anywhere. And I think it makes a lot of sense. One has to have some balls to make it here, in this crowded soulless madness. Whatever doesn’t kill you will make you stronger. 

I decided to take a walk to Times Square to see what can possibly still be going on in there. It was a little after 11 pm, and there were still a bunch of people hanging around. Some dudes were dancing, people walking and taking pictures, and taking videos on their phones. The ads were still there, blinking and hypnotizing everyone who can see them. I stayed to the side of a building, right on the corner, and watched the scene. I’ve pretended like I wasn’t there. I am just a smoking spirit observing the humans on Earth. It was fun. I’ve got lost in this City. Nobody knew me here; nobody cares to know me.

I didn’t care about it either. It was always a small town’s mentality or small communities where everyone was terrified about others’ opinions and trying to show their best side. In a city like New York, you don’t have to try, you have to be the best to make it and you don’t have to give a damn about others’ opinions as it just doesn’t matter here at all. I looked around and looked up in the sky and up at those buildings and realized how enormous everything is and how much of nothing I am against it. I finished my cigarillo and strolled back to the hotel. The City was still out there; the people were still out there. I was gone. 

I did not stay up for too long. I could probably get another page out of me, but it was getting late, and the drinks and the smokes were taking their toll on me. I was well drunk by that time, judging by the amounts of typos and errors with red underlines. I finished my glass of wine, finished my page, and went to bed. I set up the alarm for 6 am, and I fell asleep immediately. I had a new job, and I needed to get some sleep and be there on time and in good shape with all my good spirits. Today was just another evening in New York, and I was drunk and tired. Tomorrow will be another day.