I am on line at the County Clerks Office in Brooklyn.  There is a dull rumble of the fluorescent lights, turning the already sickly looking people a faint shade of green.  Behind the counter is a woman, Black, mid-40′s, large.  She is wearing a floral print, colorful, bright.  It is the most cheery thing here.

All around me are people who quite literally, are fighting city hall.  They need forms in triplicate.  They need proof of verification.  They have been re-routed many times over, and They. Are. Pissed.  It is taking some of these people all the strength they have to not flip out.  There is a very obvious tension in the air that makes the bullet proof glass in front of the Clerks Office seem like less of an after thought and more of a necessity. Read the rest of this entry »

I woke up from a light sleep to the sound of kids playing outside my fire escape.  It was probably 10 or 11am, I had no sense of the time, but it felt late.  I looked over at Lisa who was still asleep next to me.  She was naked, save for the sheet that was wrapped indiscriminately around her waist and legs.  A light dew of sweat coated her forehead and had matted down her hair.  In short she looked lovely.

I got up, started to put on a pair of boxers but then thought better of it.  I wanted her to wake up to me naked.  It wasn’t a logical thought, but I figured I would start being physically naked around her and ideally transition that into being emotionally naked too.

When I got up, I went to the kitchen, which was messy, and removed the rags that surrounded my coffee maker.  There were all manner of fabric swatches, paint brushes, and knick knacks in this studio.  Considering how much time I spent here it should have been cleaner, but I’ve never been one for neatness.  I started to brew a pot of coffee.  While I waited, I went back by the window, lit a cigarette, and propped myself up on the ladder by the foot of my bed.  I just stared at Lisa, aware of my good fortune.  Here was a woman, lithe, young, youthful, in my shabby excuse for a home.  She had stayed up late letting me paint her, reading, allowing for bad jokes and smiling.  I was very lucky.

When she started to stir, she immediately smiled at me.  Her cat like yawn emitted the most repulsive morning breathe, but at least for this morning, she was mine.  I crawled back next to her, and wrapped myself around her body, the heat making us stick together.

It was nice.

Comedy

by Chioke Nassor (duh.)

The first time I ever did stand up I got punched in the face.

I was about 23 or 24, and I’m not exactly sure what made me decide to go on stage. I do know I really loved, and still love standup. I mean, comedy in general is one of the great loves of my life. I used to tape old episodes of SNL, and Seinfeld, comics on Comedy Central, and just transcribe their jokes. For no reason whatsoever. I never showed it to people, or tried to get laughs by reciting the material. I just wanted to be close to it. Read the rest of this entry »

Monday, 9:35am. She is wearing black tights, a grey wool skirt, and a red overcoat.  Reading paper.  Expensive purse.  Converse (ratty).  Get’s on E train heading downtown.

Tuesday, 9:37am. She has headphones on, still reading paper (New York Times).  Outfit similar save for color of leggings (grey) and skirt (navy).  She looks up at me.  We make tentative eye contact.

Wednesday, 9:36am. I am amazed by how punctual I’ve suddenly become at work.  Woman with paper has no paper today.  Is reading Jonathan Franzen book.  Looks bored.  She smiles at me when leaving train, in a “wow, what a coincidence” way.

Thursday, 10:15am. I over sleep.  Shit.  I am late.  What’s worse is I am late to a review meeting.  Can they fire you if you aren’t there to be fired?  I imagine yelling, but instead I get stern looks, and disapproving head shaking (worse.)

Thursday, 6:45pm. I try to make amends by working late, but leave 10 minutes after my boss leaves.  Will send a time stamp email from office account in 2 hours saying project “is in good shape.”  Vague but supportive.  See Newspaper Lady on train back to Brooklyn.  She is crying.  We make no eye contact but I attempt to pat her on back as she leaves train (weird).  She instead of hitting me, smiles through tears, and mumbles “thanks.”  Still never looks up at me though.  What was she crying about?  Maybe she was late for review and got fired?  Decide this may be my alternate universe doppleganger.

Friday, 9:20am. Decide to go to work early.  Tell this to roommate, but really I am at train station to see Newspaper Girl.  Will she be crying?  Happy?  Not show up?  Oddly, I am very nervous.

Friday, 9:40am. No sign of Newspaper Girl.  Am beginning to worry.

Friday, 9:50am. If I don’t leave now, I will be late.

Friday, 10:15am. No sign of Newspaper Girl.  I call in sick.  When I get back on the train, to go home, I see Newspaper Girl (eureka!).  She is wearing jeans, converse, and light army green colored jacket.  I decide that chance occurrence is some sort of sign and I should follow her until I get to the bottom of this coincidence.  Immediately, I regret this decision…

To be continued…

“Don’t think too hard about it,” he thought to himself. Sitting at the cafe, jittery on caffeine, Michael looked up from his sketchbook and tried to repeat his previous eye contact with the cute girl sitting across the room. “Everyone here is good looking!” he mumbled to no one in particular.

His waitress came up to refill his coffee. Her stockings were ripped, but seemingly intentionally. The bus boy had a mustache that made him look like a male model version of Pancho Villa. Where is your six shooter, hombre?

Michael went back to drawing in his sketchbook, hoping to look sincerely deep and interesting. Maybe people around the room were wondering who this fetching young stranger was? Who amongst us has the balls to sit here alone, working, during brunch no less! He clearly must be a genius! Read the rest of this entry »

(ed. note: still playing around with this idea)

Terese stood at the foot of her stairwell, watching the EMT’s take away Mrs. Kucinik.  She had been standing there for 5 minutes, half in shock, and halfway relieved.  She had spent the last few months getting tea with Mrs. Kucinik, Anne to her friends, and in that time all she had learned about her 93 year old neighbor was that she wanted to die, and that she paid 82 dollars a month in rent.

Both concepts were fairly hard for Terese to wrap her mind around. Read the rest of this entry »

A quick recap of pertinent facts:

I live in a studio apartment in a non-borhood. Meaning, there is nothing discernible about the area where I live. If my block was suddenly abandoned or bombed out, people would have difficulty telling the difference. I also have a very tenuous relationship with my neighbors: we never really see or hear each other. And there is no excuse why they would ever stop by casually.

As far as work goes the only thing that is consistent about it is I do it a lot, but never at the same place, and often for irregular erratic hours.   Also I’m single.  As far as I can tell I have no discernible habits where people expect me to be anywhere for any real length of time.

All of which lead me to one deeply puzzling question: “How Long Would It Take For People to Notice I’m Dead?”

I thought at the very least it would take a week before people knew I was dead. Actually, I thought it would take a week for people to know I was missing. But rather than just speculate, I decided to get some hard data on the issue. I decided to fake my own death.

The tools:

I would need to adequately create the illusion of what a dead guys life would be like, meaning: no facebook, no text messaging, no emails, and moreover, I’d start recreating the smell of a rotting human body in my studio apartment with formaldehyde and a bunch of day old fish. I’m pretty sure my security deposit wouldn’t get returned, but for the peace of mind knowing that someone, nay, anyone loved me enough to catch on that I ceased existing, it’d be worth it.

Up next: Day one.

It was the second night after my disastrous set, and I was sitting in the laundromat, going over all of my jokes, trying to figure out what worked, and what went wrong, when I saw her walk inside.

I had seen her before, this much I knew, but I couldn’t quite place where. She was radiating when she walked in, but her features were plain, so she might have served me coffee, or been next to me at the gym, and I probably wouldn’t have noticed her, or remembered for that matter.

I think she caught me staring, and then she came over to me and slowly stopped, looked at my black eye and said:

“Nice shiner.” Read the rest of this entry »

I was in the back of a smokey comedy club. The room was packed with people from Jersey and the Island, really done up, lots of jewelry and glossy lipstick. The first comic comes out, and he’s sweating, which instantly made me nervous. I was already nervous, as this was the first shot I’d have in front of a “real” audience.

I’d been doing standup, for about a month at this point, but mainly at open mics, which are are usually small and sparsely filled rooms with other comics who don’t give a shit about you. If they laugh it’s begrudgingly, in between staring at their notes. All in all it’s a pretty demoralizing experience. I’d been up about 4 or 5 times, depending on if you count the set where I got bumped halfway through by a “bigger” comedian who wanted to test out material. And in those four times, I’d gotten exactly 7 laughs. To say it was humiliating is the understatement of the year. But for some reason I kept coming back. I really loved how it felt. Holding the mic in my hand, being blinded by the stage lights, the echo of my voice…it was really comforting. But most of all, every one of those seven big laughs was like a burst of oxygen. I felt like I could live my whole life on nothing but those laughs.

Well, that and pussy. Read the rest of this entry »

I ran inside of the hotel on the corner and asked the guy behind the desk if they had any tape.  He gave me a dirty look, but pulled out a roll just the same.  I was paranoid I’d miss her, which is ridiculous, but in my hurry I dropped the paper on the other side of the counter.  The clerk behind the desk picked it up and then gave it a once over.  He smiled at me for a second, but then handed it back without saying anything.  I started to walk away when he called out behind me.

“Her name is Margaret.”

Needless to say, it stopped me dead in my tracks. Read the rest of this entry »