Chapter 4/9
Well, I'm back in Dylan's room. It's been quite a day, but let's keep things remotely chrono.
After walking and searching for what seemed like fucking forever. I meet Dylan on 34th and Broadway. You never really get a good idea of what a person "is" until you meet them. Dylan was exactly that. It's crazy, but now I understand everything he's said online. Like, finally knowing who he is fascinates me.
He's also taller than I pictured.
We decide our first destination, the Gates. It takes us a good 20 minutes to get there. We walked by where he works, Reuters, right in the center of Times Square. Heh, now I notice that 80% of our conversations are about how different New York is from Maryland. McDonald's (I've walked past about 30 so far) are relatively the same price, same with department stores. Rite Aid and it's competitor, Duane Reade, are as well.
A pack of cigarettes, $7.00. They actually have black market cigarette vendors who sell them a pack for $5. Starbucks, $4.50 for a tall. Subway, 6 inches are $4.50 as well.
At Central Park, we immediately saw the Gates. Honestly, at that point, I thought they were gonna be just hype, but they really were beautiful. Not only did they put up the gates, but they closed the park to cars. It really was a haven in a metropolis, Absolutely gorgeous.
While walking through, we contemplated what we were going to do for the night, so we came to the conclusion that we had no idea, ha. Once we left the park, it was time to head uptown. Hopped on the subway and headed off.
Right after the subway ride my pocket vibrates, text messages out the ass. I call my sister because her messages was the most recent. "Mom thinks you're dead," is basically the first thing out of her mouth. It doesn't take much for me to convince her otherwise. I of course got the talk about how I shouldn't jsut go running off without a real plan and whatever from mom. So yeah, basically whatever.
After the phone was back in my pocket, I had realized that I was quite hungry. Hadn't eaten anything since Cocoa Puffs. Dylan and I stood there for a good 10 minutes deciding. I didn't konw of any places, and he, well, never eats boring food. The restaraunts on his list included Ethiopian, Indian, Portuguesse, Brazillian, and all that good stuff. We decided on Tom's Diner, some may know that place from a little show called Sienfeld, other's from a very popular song that slips my mind at the moment.
Dylan ordered meatloaf, I got a cheeseburger. The food was absolutely mediocre. The fries, satisfactory, the burger, what a burger is meant to be, nothing special. In fact, that entire place was unbelievably dry. I heard they have good shakes though.
Once we finished eating and left, we began walking around, trying to figure out what we were going to do. In front of an unfinished cathedral, the idea hit Dylan, "let's get a bottle of tequilla and walk the tunnels of Columbia." So we went and got a bottle, and headed to the school on 116th and Broadway.
Columbia is a very... interesting school. I'm sure that anyone who reads this will know, it's an Ivy League college, smack in the middle of Harlem. Ivy League means expensive, so the kids that go there either have full scholarships, or get their parents to pay. It's a very exclusive school, and very secure. The campus was built one story higher then the street and has steel gates blocking entrances and metal bars blocking outside windows. It's basically a safe spot for all the rich fucks that go there.
Dylan not only works at Reuter's, but he also has a second job. Since he went to college because he was smart and earned his grades, he actually did the work. Quite a few of the students there, however, are rich, and have paid their way or had their parents pay their way through school. Columbia is no exception for this trend. Several students pay Dylan for doing their homework. Some pay him as little as $150 per assignment, but he's gotten near $500 at times.
Son of a bitch. I just realized I left my shoes at Dylan's place. In this last little chapter-esque thing, I've actually only been writing about a paragraph at a time on and off through the night. It is now 11:48am Saturday. I already have my train ticket for 12:05 pm, and his apartment locks automatically, so my shoes are here for a while.
I always get really nervous befoure the train arrives, so I'm going to stop writing for a bit. See ya on the train.
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