True this
I love New York. So much adventure. Mystery. Intrigue.
Great Sunday. I had the best brunch ever and ate oatmeal brule (fancy for scorched sugar on top). Saw a student show at UCB, spent time with Ali, lindsay’s friend and my first frienship made outside of victor since I have been here. She took me to magnolia bakery where I would eat the best cupcake ever. And then to a party in Brooklyn Heights. Where the huxtables live. And I went from Brooklyn back to manhatten ALL BY MY SELF. I even found my way to the subway station without incident despite the directions to it including “turn down the dark alley”. Of course, even though I escaped certain mugging, I didn’t manage to get on the right train. I guess that trains don’t just go where you need them to, but have to follow tracks that go in the order that has been pre-decided. Live and learn. Anyhow I emerged back onto the earth totally lost.
I will spare you the details, but i made it safely home. Finally. (apparently there are a lot of people who live in new york, but most of them don’t know how to give directions without confusing their norths and souths. ) I stopped at the corner market and got some frozen yogurt, deciding that I would chill out at home for a little while because I had enough adventure for the day. Yogurt in tow, I head to my building and I notice that the entrance is propped open. This is kind of scary because that means any crazy could just walk right into my building. Oh well. I am about to walk in and I notice a trail of blood leading into the lobby. BLOOD. I think, maybe those red drops aren’t blood and walk in. I was wrong. There was blood everywhere. Blood thick and pooling on the lobby floor. Blood sprayed all over the walls. Blood dripping down the stairs.
I slowly step backward out of the building. Careful not to get any evidence on me and making sure not to turn my back to the hatchet murderer no doubt hiding behind the wall awaiting his next victim. I was on the phone the whole time, leaving greg a voicemail. The voicemail was cut short by my saying, “there is blood in my apartment, I have to go.” Youre welcome, gfreg. As soon as I hung up I called victor to let him know what was happening, but he didn’t pick up. I left a message saying, “victor, there is blood all over the apartment. I hope it isn’t yours. Bye.” VICTOR? HIS BLOOD? Not possible.
From behind me I hear voices behind me screaming, “it is safe, go on in. He is dead!”
I turn around to see three old men yelling at me from the bodega across the street. I run over to them. The three men are laughing and talking.
Me: “What happened?”
Old man: “The guy, he died.”
Me: “Dead? Who?!? What guy?!?”
Other old man: “It is safe. He is gone already. You can go in.”
Me: “Who is gone already?! What happened?!”
Other old man: “That man on the fourth floor. He is dead.”
STOP. I LIVE ON THE FOURTH FLOOR. BUT I WAS OKAY. VICTOR LIVES ON THE FOURTH FLOOR TOO. WE LIVE TOGETHER. BUT HE WASN’T WITH ME. IT COULD BE VICTOR’S BLOOD. VICTOR.
Me: “Who?!? Who was it? What did he look like?”
Old man: “You know him. Older short man.”
I DONT KNOW ANYONE. IVE ONLY BEEN HERE A WEEK. THE ONLY PERSON I KNOW IN THE CITY IS VICTOR. AND HE IS OLDER (THAN ME) AND ONLY 5’7”. NO. NO NO NO.
Me: “What happened?”
Another old man: “Served him right. He was drunk and fell down the stairs. You know, the drunk that lived on the fifth floor.”
THE FIFTH FLOOR? DRUNK?
Me: “Which was it? The fifth floor or the fourth floor?”
Old man: “The fourth floor.”
Other old man: “No, it was the fifth floor.” He points to a room at the top of the building, the fifth floor. “The drunk old man who lived in that room, next to the lady. You know him.”
Me: “No, I do not know him, I have only moved here a week ago.”
OH. The old men continue about some man who lived on the fifth floor with his son (how sad) who was a drunk; and apparently his luck living on the fifth floor with all marble stairs had run out. The old men argued over whether the guy had died or “just had is skull cracked open”… I didn’t stay to hear how the argument ended. They tried to convince me that it was safe to go home, but I refused to wade through someone’s blood.
Instead I went next door to Arlene’s Grocery. I guess I have been living right next to a place famous for setting of career’s for a bunch of famous bands. Last night I saw “Have Her Home By Ten.” They are a great band, I cant wait to see them be famous. And I made a bunch of friends there last night. And when I got home I put the frozen yogurt in the freezer, and it tasted fine this morning. Pretty lucky, huh? Ahh, New York.
Great Sunday. I had the best brunch ever and ate oatmeal brule (fancy for scorched sugar on top). Saw a student show at UCB, spent time with Ali, lindsay’s friend and my first frienship made outside of victor since I have been here. She took me to magnolia bakery where I would eat the best cupcake ever. And then to a party in Brooklyn Heights. Where the huxtables live. And I went from Brooklyn back to manhatten ALL BY MY SELF. I even found my way to the subway station without incident despite the directions to it including “turn down the dark alley”. Of course, even though I escaped certain mugging, I didn’t manage to get on the right train. I guess that trains don’t just go where you need them to, but have to follow tracks that go in the order that has been pre-decided. Live and learn. Anyhow I emerged back onto the earth totally lost.
I will spare you the details, but i made it safely home. Finally. (apparently there are a lot of people who live in new york, but most of them don’t know how to give directions without confusing their norths and souths. ) I stopped at the corner market and got some frozen yogurt, deciding that I would chill out at home for a little while because I had enough adventure for the day. Yogurt in tow, I head to my building and I notice that the entrance is propped open. This is kind of scary because that means any crazy could just walk right into my building. Oh well. I am about to walk in and I notice a trail of blood leading into the lobby. BLOOD. I think, maybe those red drops aren’t blood and walk in. I was wrong. There was blood everywhere. Blood thick and pooling on the lobby floor. Blood sprayed all over the walls. Blood dripping down the stairs.
I slowly step backward out of the building. Careful not to get any evidence on me and making sure not to turn my back to the hatchet murderer no doubt hiding behind the wall awaiting his next victim. I was on the phone the whole time, leaving greg a voicemail. The voicemail was cut short by my saying, “there is blood in my apartment, I have to go.” Youre welcome, gfreg. As soon as I hung up I called victor to let him know what was happening, but he didn’t pick up. I left a message saying, “victor, there is blood all over the apartment. I hope it isn’t yours. Bye.” VICTOR? HIS BLOOD? Not possible.
From behind me I hear voices behind me screaming, “it is safe, go on in. He is dead!”
I turn around to see three old men yelling at me from the bodega across the street. I run over to them. The three men are laughing and talking.
Me: “What happened?”
Old man: “The guy, he died.”
Me: “Dead? Who?!? What guy?!?”
Other old man: “It is safe. He is gone already. You can go in.”
Me: “Who is gone already?! What happened?!”
Other old man: “That man on the fourth floor. He is dead.”
STOP. I LIVE ON THE FOURTH FLOOR. BUT I WAS OKAY. VICTOR LIVES ON THE FOURTH FLOOR TOO. WE LIVE TOGETHER. BUT HE WASN’T WITH ME. IT COULD BE VICTOR’S BLOOD. VICTOR.
Me: “Who?!? Who was it? What did he look like?”
Old man: “You know him. Older short man.”
I DONT KNOW ANYONE. IVE ONLY BEEN HERE A WEEK. THE ONLY PERSON I KNOW IN THE CITY IS VICTOR. AND HE IS OLDER (THAN ME) AND ONLY 5’7”. NO. NO NO NO.
Me: “What happened?”
Another old man: “Served him right. He was drunk and fell down the stairs. You know, the drunk that lived on the fifth floor.”
THE FIFTH FLOOR? DRUNK?
Me: “Which was it? The fifth floor or the fourth floor?”
Old man: “The fourth floor.”
Other old man: “No, it was the fifth floor.” He points to a room at the top of the building, the fifth floor. “The drunk old man who lived in that room, next to the lady. You know him.”
Me: “No, I do not know him, I have only moved here a week ago.”
OH. The old men continue about some man who lived on the fifth floor with his son (how sad) who was a drunk; and apparently his luck living on the fifth floor with all marble stairs had run out. The old men argued over whether the guy had died or “just had is skull cracked open”… I didn’t stay to hear how the argument ended. They tried to convince me that it was safe to go home, but I refused to wade through someone’s blood.
Instead I went next door to Arlene’s Grocery. I guess I have been living right next to a place famous for setting of career’s for a bunch of famous bands. Last night I saw “Have Her Home By Ten.” They are a great band, I cant wait to see them be famous. And I made a bunch of friends there last night. And when I got home I put the frozen yogurt in the freezer, and it tasted fine this morning. Pretty lucky, huh? Ahh, New York.