Sunset Park
I periodically get tired or annoyed at the placement of furniture and decide to change it.
Such was the situation last Sunday, when, after watching the X files, I decided to resort the living-room of my apartment. I began lugging couches and huge bass amps around the room. I could do this with impunity, for the apartment below us is uninhabited, and niether my roommates, Geoff and Jessica, were home. As I worked in the night, I decided to use a bit of my dwindling funds to nourish myself with a piece of pizza and a bakery cookie from around the block before the next X files episode aired.
Off I went, and ran into some new neighborhood boys.
Pete: sells dimes and nickels. Other kid: kinda sketchy. I spoke to them briefly; Pete knows Meg - he helped her move a couch.
I returned to my apartment to discover that the jingling in my left hand pocket was nothing but my wallet chain - I had no keys. I eventually walked back down the hill to the corner where Pete had been. There he and Other kid were, with two other guys dressed in tuxes from a wedding they'd just
attended and a 14 year old hyper spaztic neighborhood kid who'd ended up smoking a few blunts in my living-room with a different group of boys months and months beforehand.
Strangely, I witnessed the older man who, minutes before, sold me my peice of Pizza (the owner of the pizzaria, actually) drive up to the corner and summon Pete to the passenger window to sell him weed.
Anyway, with the knowlege sinking in that Jessica was at her fuck-buddy's for the night and Geoff in in NJ, I'd no phone book, my metrocard just ran out that midnight, I'd about 5 dollars, and the shivers, I opted to smoke a blunt with this motley crew in a urine stenched alleyway.
I was zooted.
I decided to go home and see if perhaps Jessica came home.
No such luck.
Pete and sketchy kid sat with me on my stoop for a while, we smoked two more blunts, then Pete left. I was then left with this kid. I was freezing cold, so I did not repel his cuddling as vehemently as I should. However, everytime I started to nodd
off, he started gettin' fresh! By around seven, when I'd had no sleep due to a combination of the cold and fending of Mr. Octopuss all night, I told him to fuck off. At that point, I noticed a large laundry bag filled with all the winter clothes I'd decided to get rid of. It sat in plain view right in the front of the house.
I'm stupid.
It was at this point that I realized, regardless of how I could not get warm. I was in some state of psychological shock. I pulled on a second pair of pants, two sweaters, and a ski jacket. I shivered anyway. I sat on the stoop that entire next morning, nodding off here and there. At near two or three in the afternoon, I gave up on Geoffs earlier claims that he was going to be stopping off at home
after NJ and before work. I trekked down to the bakery and spent the last of my $ on an egg sandwich. When I returned, I found our mail was stolen from the stoop where I'd left it.
I resumed my post: sitting and staring with nothing to write or draw with. I witnessed a latino oliver twist gang of children parade and scream and sprint up and down the sidewalk. At one point I woke up to thier invasion of the gated front concrete lawn of the appartment building; slowly creeping towards my
bundled (-to the point of rivaling Ralphie's brother in A Christmas Story- "I CAN"T PUT MY ARMS DOWN!!), sleeping body.
I moved.
They screamed and ran.
God, how depressing.
As I sat, staring across the street for the 3rd hour
without distraction, a little girl, perhaps 8 years old, approached me. She raised her smudged elbows to ear level and rested them on the gate door.
"What's your name?"
"Rachael"
"Are you kicked out?"
"No, I'm just locked out."
"I got kicked out."
"Why?"
"I don't know. They didn't tell me. Dey just wouldn't let me in."
"THat's HORRIBLE! Where are you going to go now?"
"oh, I'm not kicked out anymore. The police came and made them let me in."
"oh."
"I was going to go to another home, but all my stuff that I ever owned was in there. All my clothes. And I had just ME."
"oh."
silence.
"Y'know, when you get kicked out, it makes you feel sooo sad."
"yeah."
"Bye!"
And of she ran, down the block.
Later, as dusk drove many of the children inside (but not as many as you'd think), I met my next door neihbor. We had a discussion on the state of the neihborhood - how it's amazingly on the upswing, crack and murders were MORE a common occurance
than they are now.
As I sat on the stoop, at ten or eleven o clock that
evening, Geoff came home.
I nearly cried.
As he removed his keys, I clung to his legs in a desperate embrace. He asked me what was wrong, and I explianed that I'd been locked out. He didn't understand. I explained that I'd been right there for the last 24 hours.
"You weren't there when i came home this afternoon." he said.
"..........what?!?!" I started shaking worse.
[Now, for those of you who are aquainted with the curse of ridiculously insanely horribly BAD TIMING that plauges my life in constant ridicule - here's a good one:]
When I went down the block to get a sandwich, and returned to find the mail "stolen", Geoff had actually come home, brought in the mail, and then left. Keep in mind that the bakery I went to is on the way to the subway station that Geoff used.
In a related story, later that week, I came home at
somewhere around one in the morning after being led to a wonderful coffee shop (perfect place to write and draw). I found Pete and the other kid at my door, having just tried the doorbell. I sat and
chatted for a while, then offered to let them in for a minute to smoke. Scketchy kid hung out for a while, but when he realized his advances were not working, he bugged: "I'm buggin, yo. I'll wait outside."
Pete and I hung out. I had to teach him how to use the bong. My explinations and tips were met by suspicious eyes, until he got it to work and his only response was a heartfelt handshake of appreciation.
Suddenly, sckethcy kid reappeared. I had no thought of how he did it, but the fact that he just let himself back into my apartment was unsettling. So we hung fo a bit, smoked a bit more, and just as I told them that I had to go to bed, I heard voices. (ha ha. very funny. you know what I
mean!)
I went to investigate, and for those of you who've not seen my apartment, the front door is on the first floor immediately followed by a staircase up to the second floor, with a railing at the hallway at the top. So, I hung my head over the railing,
to see two policemen wandering up the stairway.
They explained to me that there had been a break in next door and that both my front doors were left wide open. They debated over whether they should "check out" my apartment. They asked
me, amoungst other things, if I had "male company".
Eventually, they left. I made the boys leave, and five minutes later, lying in bed, paranoid, not able to sleep, I heard two gun shots.
I gotta get out of my neihborhood.
I'm sneaking this epic letter during my lulls in the
cubicle.
This is all for now!
Such was the situation last Sunday, when, after watching the X files, I decided to resort the living-room of my apartment. I began lugging couches and huge bass amps around the room. I could do this with impunity, for the apartment below us is uninhabited, and niether my roommates, Geoff and Jessica, were home. As I worked in the night, I decided to use a bit of my dwindling funds to nourish myself with a piece of pizza and a bakery cookie from around the block before the next X files episode aired.
Off I went, and ran into some new neighborhood boys.
Pete: sells dimes and nickels. Other kid: kinda sketchy. I spoke to them briefly; Pete knows Meg - he helped her move a couch.
I returned to my apartment to discover that the jingling in my left hand pocket was nothing but my wallet chain - I had no keys. I eventually walked back down the hill to the corner where Pete had been. There he and Other kid were, with two other guys dressed in tuxes from a wedding they'd just
attended and a 14 year old hyper spaztic neighborhood kid who'd ended up smoking a few blunts in my living-room with a different group of boys months and months beforehand.
Strangely, I witnessed the older man who, minutes before, sold me my peice of Pizza (the owner of the pizzaria, actually) drive up to the corner and summon Pete to the passenger window to sell him weed.
Anyway, with the knowlege sinking in that Jessica was at her fuck-buddy's for the night and Geoff in in NJ, I'd no phone book, my metrocard just ran out that midnight, I'd about 5 dollars, and the shivers, I opted to smoke a blunt with this motley crew in a urine stenched alleyway.
I was zooted.
I decided to go home and see if perhaps Jessica came home.
No such luck.
Pete and sketchy kid sat with me on my stoop for a while, we smoked two more blunts, then Pete left. I was then left with this kid. I was freezing cold, so I did not repel his cuddling as vehemently as I should. However, everytime I started to nodd
off, he started gettin' fresh! By around seven, when I'd had no sleep due to a combination of the cold and fending of Mr. Octopuss all night, I told him to fuck off. At that point, I noticed a large laundry bag filled with all the winter clothes I'd decided to get rid of. It sat in plain view right in the front of the house.
I'm stupid.
It was at this point that I realized, regardless of how I could not get warm. I was in some state of psychological shock. I pulled on a second pair of pants, two sweaters, and a ski jacket. I shivered anyway. I sat on the stoop that entire next morning, nodding off here and there. At near two or three in the afternoon, I gave up on Geoffs earlier claims that he was going to be stopping off at home
after NJ and before work. I trekked down to the bakery and spent the last of my $ on an egg sandwich. When I returned, I found our mail was stolen from the stoop where I'd left it.
I resumed my post: sitting and staring with nothing to write or draw with. I witnessed a latino oliver twist gang of children parade and scream and sprint up and down the sidewalk. At one point I woke up to thier invasion of the gated front concrete lawn of the appartment building; slowly creeping towards my
bundled (-to the point of rivaling Ralphie's brother in A Christmas Story- "I CAN"T PUT MY ARMS DOWN!!), sleeping body.
I moved.
They screamed and ran.
God, how depressing.
As I sat, staring across the street for the 3rd hour
without distraction, a little girl, perhaps 8 years old, approached me. She raised her smudged elbows to ear level and rested them on the gate door.
"What's your name?"
"Rachael"
"Are you kicked out?"
"No, I'm just locked out."
"I got kicked out."
"Why?"
"I don't know. They didn't tell me. Dey just wouldn't let me in."
"THat's HORRIBLE! Where are you going to go now?"
"oh, I'm not kicked out anymore. The police came and made them let me in."
"oh."
"I was going to go to another home, but all my stuff that I ever owned was in there. All my clothes. And I had just ME."
"oh."
silence.
"Y'know, when you get kicked out, it makes you feel sooo sad."
"yeah."
"Bye!"
And of she ran, down the block.
Later, as dusk drove many of the children inside (but not as many as you'd think), I met my next door neihbor. We had a discussion on the state of the neihborhood - how it's amazingly on the upswing, crack and murders were MORE a common occurance
than they are now.
As I sat on the stoop, at ten or eleven o clock that
evening, Geoff came home.
I nearly cried.
As he removed his keys, I clung to his legs in a desperate embrace. He asked me what was wrong, and I explianed that I'd been locked out. He didn't understand. I explained that I'd been right there for the last 24 hours.
"You weren't there when i came home this afternoon." he said.
"..........what?!?!" I started shaking worse.
[Now, for those of you who are aquainted with the curse of ridiculously insanely horribly BAD TIMING that plauges my life in constant ridicule - here's a good one:]
When I went down the block to get a sandwich, and returned to find the mail "stolen", Geoff had actually come home, brought in the mail, and then left. Keep in mind that the bakery I went to is on the way to the subway station that Geoff used.
In a related story, later that week, I came home at
somewhere around one in the morning after being led to a wonderful coffee shop (perfect place to write and draw). I found Pete and the other kid at my door, having just tried the doorbell. I sat and
chatted for a while, then offered to let them in for a minute to smoke. Scketchy kid hung out for a while, but when he realized his advances were not working, he bugged: "I'm buggin, yo. I'll wait outside."
Pete and I hung out. I had to teach him how to use the bong. My explinations and tips were met by suspicious eyes, until he got it to work and his only response was a heartfelt handshake of appreciation.
Suddenly, sckethcy kid reappeared. I had no thought of how he did it, but the fact that he just let himself back into my apartment was unsettling. So we hung fo a bit, smoked a bit more, and just as I told them that I had to go to bed, I heard voices. (ha ha. very funny. you know what I
mean!)
I went to investigate, and for those of you who've not seen my apartment, the front door is on the first floor immediately followed by a staircase up to the second floor, with a railing at the hallway at the top. So, I hung my head over the railing,
to see two policemen wandering up the stairway.
They explained to me that there had been a break in next door and that both my front doors were left wide open. They debated over whether they should "check out" my apartment. They asked
me, amoungst other things, if I had "male company".
Eventually, they left. I made the boys leave, and five minutes later, lying in bed, paranoid, not able to sleep, I heard two gun shots.
I gotta get out of my neihborhood.
I'm sneaking this epic letter during my lulls in the
cubicle.
This is all for now!