Category: ‘miscellaneous’


December 9, 2013 Posted by the writer

I drank champagne the day you disappeared, when I should have been concerned about how we didn’t meet in the exact known place at the exact agreed IMG_1651time. Worry should have been fighting for the better of me. It all should have mattered.

But you are a liar. I learned after my first marriage, liars don’t count. So I never counted on you showing up. I never counted on you for anything.

I visited a friend in Soho who updated me about his wife and their baby and their weekend trips to the Hamptons. I never mentioned you. And he didn’t ask. And that made me feel free from you. Like even though I remembered everything, everyone else had already forgotten. (more…)

the third time

September 24, 2013 Posted by the writer

The first time, you tell everyone you know. Anyone you can think of. People you’re close with. People you just met. Family members. Your therapist.

The second time, you only tell your best friend. And the third time, you don’t tell anyone. Not one single person.IMG_5509

That’s when you decide to stop talking all together.

You realize you have grown enough to acknowledge your presence as a statistic. And while age also grants the ability to easily identify what makes you unique, in your younger years – you thought it was everything.

You walk through Central Park on a balmy summer night. It’s too late for anyone to be there. There are homeless people sleeping on the small green rolling hills. The United States is one of the only nations on the planet with overweight homeless people. A lot of the ones you walk by are wearing nicer shoes than you are.

In a way, you fell envious. You imagine a divine existence with no responsibilities and zero consequences. You hear someone ask you for a dollar and wonder what makes the stranger assume you have one. You have an apartment. You have a wardrobe of clothing nice enough to prevent anyone from asking you too many questions. You have a job and a dog; more secrets buried than the Catholic Church. (more…)

click. date.

September 22, 2013 Posted by the writer

IMG_6466I decide to start to collecting lovers again. With a smart phone, in New York City, it’s simple.

The first response comes from Kentucky, but he was actually born in Washington State. “I grew up in Indiana though.” He owns a tattoo studio in Harlem. “And I deal drugs.”

I wonder if he knew that I do days as a chief officer, he would still be so blunt. Not that it makes any difference to me. In my experience, selling them when you’re on them usually turns into an economic catastrophe. And he seems like a walking disaster.

We’re in some trendy vegan cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. A fat girl next to us turns to her companion and says, “That’s why everyone hates J.P. Morgan Chase. They like, caused the financial crisis.”

Before I worked on Wall Street, I had no exposure to economic anything – quite deliberately. I hid in Australia, with you. Reading hands and flipping cards. (more…)

another book piece

July 29, 2013 Posted by the writer

Tossed in here and there. Happy Monday blog family.

When the tears come again, she’s thankful for the reminder. There’s this physical contact of it that takes her back to a previous comfort that more than one doctor described as, “Just not good for you.”

Before him, she would bathe in salt water and count stars and dream of you. That all went away the first time he hit her. She knew you weren’t there to stop it.

DSCN2132She knew you would never have changed any of it – even if you could have.

But you couldn’t do the things you promised, that’s why you left.

Something about a bruise tells her that it mattered enough to leave a mark. Most instances pass without a trace. Comings and goings of plans that never happen with people who don’t matter.

You mattered though, that’s the one thing she will never forgive you for. The one impossible thing.

He lives in Brooklyn and does drugs, fixes cars, drinks cheap vodka. The last time she said she was finished, her elbows bruised from the impact of catching her fall in an awkward position.

Sometimes she considers you something similar to that. Something that that caught her fall in an awkward position. Only instead of walking away bruised that time, she floated for fifteen years. Until you went away. And when you finally did go away, you took everything with you.


book. peace. piece of book.

July 12, 2013 Posted by the writer

IMG_5263The night he leaves, again, she departs from the primary lights of Times Square. Through the theatre district, past faces of strangers who make livings dancing on stage; and she returns to the east side.

On the east side, there’s a sushi restaurant she used to eat at, when she lived in Tudor City – next to the United Nations. She liked that apartment, eighteen stories up. Waking up on a sunny morning to a wavy row of flags that somehow felt peaceful.

Sometimes when she looked down at the bold sails which historically expressed unity, it didn’t matter where governments evolved. Besides, she never felt remotely close to anyone or thing except him, but she was romanticized by the idea of there only being one.

She reaches third avenue and the midtown population shifts. Her usual flamboyant basement becomes a conservative mix of college students, politicians, their parents and children.

She looks down.

The waitresses at the restaurant recognize her. The hostess’s face softens immediately on eye contact.


The restaurant is packed, but her most preferred corner is free. Where the bench seat forms an L and you can see the whole room. “Only you?” The stools at the sushi bar are sparsely populated. “Your table!”

She sinks into her favorite seat to eavesdrop, like she did all the nights alone before he arrived.

She leans to the right and dips herself into the stories and lives of an unknowing couple. A place where she only needs to be seen, never heard. She’s lived enough years to embrace silence.

The couple seems to feel her and returns warm smiles…

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    FollowMeToNYC is a creative processing ground which expresses individual ideas that often change with the tides. Naturally, these ideas do not reflect those of any of my employers, or anyone else you might see me wandering down the street with one day.
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