New York Stories, Part IV
October, 1996. A twenty-seven year old white male is observed repeatedly bashing an innocent plastic phone receiver against the keypad of a phone booth near Lincoln Center. He had reached the end of his tether, and doing violence to public phones was his only catharsis. There were others about, but to the young man's knowledge, none paid him any mind, a second glance. Such displays are/were commonplace in the City. What brought this guy to such a breakdown?
It was a combination of unfortunate experiences. Lack of success finding a better job, place to live. We'll start with the latter. He had spent a month living in Astoria, Queens with two friends of friends he had met back in Florida at the Burt Reynolds Institute for Theater Training. This was after he had lived in a dump in Washington Square, deep in the northern trenches of Manhattan. That place was very old, not well maintained, and rat infested. The landlady was a shifty Dominican who was not above making advances to/hooking up with her tenants on a regular basis. She was not exactly a volumptuous specimen, either. In one large apartment, she had squeezed in 5 tenants. The poor guy did not like the apartment or the neighborhood, though he had to admire the cultural diversity of it. He dreaded nights as he rode the 9 subway train well past Columbia University and watched as the train emptied with each stop, leaving usually only vagrants and half blind drunks. To be fair, there were the occasional families.
The apartment in Queens was a blessing. Through a friend, he reconnected with the BRITT folks, both taking a stab at making it as actresses in the Big Apple. Great Greek neighborhood, clean, friendly. The two gals with whom he lived were very cool, just like he remembered them. But there were debits. He slept on their couch and listened more than once to one of them being brought to orgasm in her bedroom just feet away. To amuse himself, as sleep was impossible during these trysts, he would try to identify certain sounds. One bizarre slapping noise, to this day, baffles him. While he lived there, he meanwhile tried to find an affodable place. It wasn't happening. Try after try, something would always be amiss, something would fall through. By the end of the month, the 2 girls were no longer friendly, just, awkward, speechless. A bad place for a houseguest. He had to lower himself to see if there was a spot in his old Washington Square apartment. Yes, but to his horror, the landlady had split one of the bedrooms in half, in an effort to rent out another space. A shoe-boxed sized hovel was all that was left. Having no other options, he...
It was a combination of unfortunate experiences. Lack of success finding a better job, place to live. We'll start with the latter. He had spent a month living in Astoria, Queens with two friends of friends he had met back in Florida at the Burt Reynolds Institute for Theater Training. This was after he had lived in a dump in Washington Square, deep in the northern trenches of Manhattan. That place was very old, not well maintained, and rat infested. The landlady was a shifty Dominican who was not above making advances to/hooking up with her tenants on a regular basis. She was not exactly a volumptuous specimen, either. In one large apartment, she had squeezed in 5 tenants. The poor guy did not like the apartment or the neighborhood, though he had to admire the cultural diversity of it. He dreaded nights as he rode the 9 subway train well past Columbia University and watched as the train emptied with each stop, leaving usually only vagrants and half blind drunks. To be fair, there were the occasional families.
The apartment in Queens was a blessing. Through a friend, he reconnected with the BRITT folks, both taking a stab at making it as actresses in the Big Apple. Great Greek neighborhood, clean, friendly. The two gals with whom he lived were very cool, just like he remembered them. But there were debits. He slept on their couch and listened more than once to one of them being brought to orgasm in her bedroom just feet away. To amuse himself, as sleep was impossible during these trysts, he would try to identify certain sounds. One bizarre slapping noise, to this day, baffles him. While he lived there, he meanwhile tried to find an affodable place. It wasn't happening. Try after try, something would always be amiss, something would fall through. By the end of the month, the 2 girls were no longer friendly, just, awkward, speechless. A bad place for a houseguest. He had to lower himself to see if there was a spot in his old Washington Square apartment. Yes, but to his horror, the landlady had split one of the bedrooms in half, in an effort to rent out another space. A shoe-boxed sized hovel was all that was left. Having no other options, he...
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