Yesterday, I bought my first pack of cigarettes. Perhaps it was because I didn’t remember the name of the brand or because I first purchased a Pellegrino then asked for the cigarette pack and a lighter, but they actually thought was under age. That would mean they thought I could be 17.
The pack (Organic American Spirit) was about 11 dollars. The clerk said, “Wow. Those are expensive.” And I was like “Yeah…I know…” as if I already knew the price because I burn money on cigarettes all the time. It’s strange that I tried to act like veteran smoker when my ID is real, expired but real. In six months I will be 30 years old. I don’t know why I felt I had something hide.
So I walked to Central Park and found a good spot to smoke one. I really don’t see what the big deal is over the price of cigarettes. I mean 11 dollars for 20 smokes is 55 Cents per cigarette. That’s like buying a lollypop. I guess it would really add up if you ate lollypop after lollypop, but that’s unhealthy. You can get diabetes that way. Anyway, I wanted to be alone because I have never been able to smoke without coughing and I didn’t want to be embarrassed.
Mostly I smoked it like a cigar. Holding in the smoke; let it out. I wanted that relaxed feeling that people have when they smoke. It’s like they are thinking, “You know…I really love to exhale most” as if this was their verdict after a quiet personal debate of inhaling vs exiling.
I ended up walking home after that. It’s about a 4-mile walk from that part of the park. It was dark by the time I reached 108th street. I saw my old slum apartment. “If I still lived there I’d be home by now,” I thought, which is the same new thought I have every time I walk passed my old place.
A girl came up to me with a subway map. She had an accent I couldn’t place, but she wanted to know where the 9/11 concert was held. I had no clue. Then I realized I had been walking up CPW the whole time with the WTC lights at my back.
At this time last year I was in Malaysia and I was so homesick that I watched the lights from a live webcam. It was September 12th morning there while it was September 11th night in NYC. I drank a coke everyday because it was made with sugar and not high fructose corn syrup. I swam everyday in the pool outside my condo. I’d take a walk to the mall or around a soccer field when guys were playing in the evening. I always wanted to join, but I was afraid my game sucked too much. I’d look for dirt I to take with me. Then I’d take a nap. Afterwards, I’d go to the café at 10pm and stay there until 2am every night. I sat outdoors under an umbrella table. That song, Um-ber-ella was always on the radio. At that time I’d try calling the States. I’d talk to my mom for about 10 mins. Then try calling other people. It would be about 10 AM in the states. I once wrong-numbered some poor guy in Malaysia when I tried calling Tricia in S. Korea at 1 am.
About this time two years ago I think I was commuting to White Plains. I was working at BlueSky. The commute wasn’t bad at all. I learned how to read train schedules. Leaving the city everyday made me feel really lonely. The air felt nice up there and I started actually reading on my commute. “Music For Torching” was the first book I could not put down. At home I was working on “Positive Reinforcement” (Caton’s film). Tricia had moved back from Kansas and I knew about Porto Rico Imports coffee because I remember drinking it on our roof. I would stare downtown very often. I’m starting to get the craving for French Hazelnut. I never did camp on the roof like I wanted to. I loved seeing central park turn red and orange like a carpet leading to midtown. I could see St. John the Divine, which was right around the corner from my old place on 108th street. I can still see the church on the fire escape in my current place.
Today was a nice morning to walk to the train. The air was cool enough for a jacket. I walked down the stairs, over the 400 foot long extension cord which was stretched from an apartment on the 5th floor to an outlet on the first floor hallway. The cord winded down the stair rail in such a way that you may not notice it if not for its bright orange color. I passed a middle-aged fat white man with three younger hipsterish people knocking on a door. I assumed he was probably a broker. He said “good morning” and I said “hi.” Inside I was laughing because with the very obvious extension cord stealing power there was no way he was going to make a sale. I walked out the front door and there was short black woman talking to two police officers. I over heard “repairs” and I wanted to stop and vouch for whatever she had to say but I was so late for work already.
Something I failed to mention- my building has no hot water. I showered at the gym yesterday and this morning I boiled water for the dirty dishes. My apartment sucks.
What I found out later was that the woman, Ms. Jones, called the police because she “was going to hurt someone if the repairs weren’t made today.” The middle-age man was Tom! Tom the douche that works for the landlord. My roommate emailed me a list of the 10 worst landlords in nyc and ours was #3.
My landlord emailed me today saying that I am in breach of contract because they have not received my rent check, which I sent on the 5th of September. I do not know why they do not have it. It will cost $15 to cancel the check and to send a new one certified mail(so that I’m positive when they receive it) will cost another $15. Plus they probably want to give me a late fee. However there is still no hot water in my apartment.
I have a soccer game tonight and I’m not looking forward to a cold shower at home.
