New York Narrative

My childhood friend used to be a big liar. He’s not anymore. He’s what I call a reformed asshole. He didn’t have much of a chance though, as you’ll soon realize.

He grew up the youngest brother of three. He was scrawny and always had to fight to prove himself, until he began to realize his mind could protect him. So it was always my brother was a Navy Seal he will kill you and your family if you punch me. Or my brother is a black-belt.

His brothers had no idea their younger brother was talking so much about their fighting prowess. In fact they were fairly good students and not really tough or mean at all, but since they went to a ruff highschool and Chad was still in middle school, no one knew the difference.

One day we came back from school, heading in the direction of Chad’s house, when we saw his brothers shoulder to shoulder walking up the sidewalk, more like stomping. They each had bloody noses and black eyes. They told us they ran into some kids cousins who came looking for the tough guys who were going to beat the crap out of them. Chad had tortured their younger brother while he was pissing in the urinal, until he pissed down his jeans. It was Chad’s Vulcan death grip. When this kids cousins came for redemption, Chad just claimed again his brothers were fighters. They found out the truth, as did his brothers.

He stopped lying about his brothers after that.

First I would like to thank everyone that has been contributing to New York Narrative over the last couple of months.? I hope this site has been fun for you.? If you have any suggestions please feel free to comment at the bottom of this story.

?Let me introduce this story.? I have been sitting in jury duty for the past three days at the Bronx Supreme Court.? This is a fictional piece based on my experiences here so far.

David arrived in the Bronx early one morning to go through the very unpopular process of being chosen for jury duty.? To his surprise the area was filled with court houses.? Hardly anything else stood out in the area besides a small park, some lawyers’ offices, and many signs in bright lettering offering bail bonds.?

All this was shadowed by the famous Yankee stadium which was conveniently located near the courts, probably to remind the rowdy yank fans that getting sloshed at a game and disturbing the peace would land them only blocks away in New York City’s legal system.

As David sat and waited to be called up for jury selection he noticed one court house worker who seemed happy about his job.? This was a surprise because every other government employee at the court house was either rude, inpatient, or plain mean.? The worker, he noticed, seemed to enjoy the company of all the people around him.? The worker’s name was Charles.? Charles was very happy.

When David asked Charles why he seemed to have a different attitude than the other people working there, the worker said,

“Today is the day, 20 years ago, that I decided to work here.? I was being convicted of a crime and was released by a jury of my peers.”?

This man chose to participate, for 20 years,?in the very same activity that most citizens can’t stand, because he was?positively affected by the judicial system.?Could it be that all the other workers had also been affected by the judicial system, but their outcomes where undesirable?? David did not think so.? They just didn’t get what Charles understood.? He knew that he was helping people get justice.? The others around him felt they were just dealing with an anoying people that were just as unhappy as they themselves were.? David felt this was the reason and decided to believe in Charles, and the judicial system that freed him 20 years prior.

Chris arrived in New York and stared with Iowa eyes at the tallest buildings he’d ever seen. The stalks and stems off all the mirrored glass building shocked and overwhelmed him, so when he visited his first bar and it happened to be drag queen night,?he had to stay for a drink.

At the counter, he asked for a Heineken and was ogled by two separate men/women from the other side of the bar. The one had dark skin and a blonde wig that was tilted to one side. He seemed flushed with whisky and kept poking a straw at the crease in his lips. As soon as his Heineken arrived he turned to walk back to a quite corner where he could observe the crazy scene before him, but he was stopped dead in his tracks.

The very same transvestite, who now he could see wore smeared red lipstick and had the speckled mustache of a forty year old man, swayed in front of Chris. His friend, skinny and freckled in his black skirt and leather top belched. Then the mustached drag queen lifted his skirt and said, You like balls?

Chris pushed his way around him, spilling some of the Heineken down the front of his shirt. He got to the table and?suddenly turned to make his way out of the bar.

I’m getting out of here. Now!

On the way out the door, the sloshed transvestite says to his partner, I guess he didn’t. Then he laughed. Chris wanted to run away from there so fast.

No exaggeration–I’m a pizza fanatic. I could eat it five nights a week, so I’ve sampled a lot of pizza all over the US, and this one’s outstanding.

I found this little hole in the wall pizza/Italian restaurant?at 324 7th Avenue, between 28th and 29th Streets, called Cavallo’s Pizzeria. It’s not just pizza they sell. They have seafood, baked pasta, chicken, spaghetti, and salads. Tiny restaurant. Big menu.

I got the veggie pizza. For $3.25 a slice, it was a meal by itself for me. Piled up with fresh veggies. Cavallo’s also has Sicilian pizza. I grabbed a brochure and brought it to my family.

It says they do catering, and free delivery till 10 P.M. And you get ambiance too. Italian music playing, Frank Sinatra. I didn’t want to leave. I know I’ll be back.

Outside, in front, is an independent Italian ice seller. Best Italian ice I ever had. Lemon, pina colada, cherry, and more…

Want to know more? Call them 212-244-2012. Better yet go there–you’ll see what I’m talking about. And this is not an ad. Just one pizza lover’s opinion.

Everyone has one of these stories. You have to pee. You don?t know where to go. You’re in a foreign city or country even and you can’t figure out where to take that massive leak. This happened to me one day in a Greenwiche Village, New York.

My girlfriend and I made the trip to New York a priority that year. She wanted to visit NYU, because her old roommate was studying there and I wanted to see what the city was like. I always dreamed of moving there, from the hobbit hole I called home in Alabama.

That day we walked everywhere, looking at dresses, shoes, pants, stereos, fancy restaurants, street performers, bums, businessmen, all sorts really. When I had the natural urge to take a leak, we couldn’t find a public restroom. It seemed like we were looking forever. I knew some of the small storefront properties probably had one, but for some reason we didn’t have any money on us. I thought she had my wallet when we left the hotel room and she thought I had picked it up. She had two dollars in change from a cab fare the night before. The reason I say this most of the stores required you to purchase something in order to use the restroom.

Finally it became unbearable and we went into a vinyl record shop and I petitioned the front kid to let me use the bathroom, which he first began saying they didn’t have but after I started to unzip you get the picture. I basically threatened to pee on his floor if he didn’t let me use his restroom. I know it was childish, but I felt like being brazen at the moment, and, well, I really had to go. We’ve all been there, I know.