#but no I’m back here and cloudy weather here still fucking SUCKS and despite everything it’s still me

[iamthekarmapolice]

cloudy weather in Berlin is like autumn cozy vibes soft yellow lights indoors, lights in the windows as you pass them on the street (soundtracked by undertale’s uwa so temperate) and cloudy weather in Mumbai is the exact same heat and humidity except everything looks sickly and grey and i feel a heaviness inside of me and everything is more difficult to do than usual

[gwoongi]

wordless pt.3

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: hitman (john wick au), sugar daddy au, angst rating: mature words: 3.5k warnings: toxic relationships, non graphic sex a/n: im sleepy but hey im also rly glad bts made a statement about the blm movement :D

Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Jeongguk over the edge if he hears them again.

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

(21) Sharing your umbrella with them in the rain.

“Yeah, I did, I submitted it on Thursday. What do you mean, did it get a good mark, it’s only Monday.” As you near the front windows of the building, you sigh and stare at the gloomy clouds presented behind the glass. Korea is cold and wet and dark today. “Fuck, rain. Anyway, I’ll call you later, Eunji, okay?”

Eunji agrees and hangs up the phone before you get the chance to, and you’re left in the cool shadow of the largest cloud in the sky. From nine until eleven, you have a morning class on Monday; today, due to request from at least five students confused by the essay title that was due on Friday evening, the class ran for an additional hour and a half, all of the subject material covered with a general extension for the following Fri. Typical, as you rushed it to hand it in before submission.

“Not going home, Y/N?”

You suck your top teeth with disappointment, “Not yet, Professor, I need to make a call.”

The slim professor arrives at your elbow, “Boyfriend?”

“Not really,” you confess. You glance at your phone and find Jeongguk’s number, “but he owes me a few favours here and there, it won’t hurt to bring an umbrella or something.”

“Good luck,” she laughs. She doesn’t offer her umbrella, despite it being tucked under her armpit, and her car is parked in sight close to the windows. At that, she leaves and you send Jeongguk a quick text message. If he’s working presently, the text will annoy him less than a call.

Raining! I’m stuck, can you send some to come and get me?

Jeongguk must be in office, because his reply is speedy. Forget your subway card again?

I never ask for anything, would it hurt you to send someone to get me?

He doesn’t reply for five minutes, and then, Uni, right?

It takes at least fifteen minutes before a vehicle pulls up across the small car-park; it’s a black car, shiny and wet and loud, and you bristle at its entry. Quickly, you hug your coat closer around your body and when you glance back up towards the window, you’re surprised to see Jeongguk himself briskly crossing the lot with an umbrella over his head.

“I’m here to pick up a Y/N L/N, you seen her?” he asks when he reaches the door, smiling as you haul it open and stare at him with happy surprise. “You did not dress for the weather.”

“The app said it would be cloudy,” you huff.

“Baby, it’s January, what did you expect,” Jeongguk sighs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and bringing you closer to his body. Like this, he walks alongside you towards the car and for a moment, he glances around the complex out the corner of his eye. This University isn’t the dog's bollocks, because as much as he’s willing to help fund you at University, he can’t pay for you to be smarter. You’re pretty happy where you are, not being at a big-name University but doing the exact same degree anyways. He’s happy that you’re happy, but if it were him, he’d probably redecorate the front.

(22) Listening to them while they vent.

When Jeongguk vents, he doesn’t just vent. He never sits you down in front of him and lets it all out, nor does he slink away to therapy, or whining over the phone, or sleepy pillow talk where everything feels safer when you’re seconds away from falling asleep.

Instead, Jeongguk fucks away his problems, and as he does it, you tend to get an earful.

“And,” he grunts, one slap, one thrust, “I fucked it up.” One more. “All of it.” Another groan, a deeper push, “Fuck!”

You like to let him get it all out, and on the plus side, you get what you need which is to relieve the pressure of wanting in your stomach. It’s better when he’s angry, better for both of you, and he’s full of apologies when he’s finished, as if he was yelling at you and not at himself.

“Last time I ever work with Taehyung,” he spits. “Fuck. Ugh.”

You’ll ask him about it later.

(23) Taking a picture together to print and hang later.

One night, you’re over at Jeongguk’s. It’s not unusual that you’re here, especially when you’re here so often that his house feels like your own. From the bathroom, the shower runs loudly and Jeongguk sings, mostly to himself, in the water, meanwhile you dance around his kitchen making tea and bringing it to the bedroom where he’ll come in later when he’s done.

His room is golden and warm, and the curtains are drawn but the thin netting softens the sunset outside. You circle around the end of Jeongguk’s bed and set his cup on the bedside table on his side, closest to the window, when you notice something new sitting in a frame by the lamp. Okay, you’ll bite.

You put down both mugs and in exchange pick up the frame. Something warm bubbles inside your stomach as you look down at the frame; the picture, you’ve never seen before, but it’s of you. You remember the photo being taken in Colmar, the time that Jeongguk came to see you to satisfy his own boredom and need. Never did you imagine it would be a photo he’d print, let alone put in a frame next to his bed. It’s a pretty photo, too, with the river behind you and the sun on your skin, your hair only slightly in your face.

Not a perfect photo, but a pretty one. Jeongguk must like it enough to have printed it.

The shower cuts off in the bathroom and you move quickly, protecting an image of innocence as you put the frame back where it once was, and pick up your mug and place it on your bedside table. You’ve placed Jeongguk’s mug so that he could take it both ways. Maybe he’ll think you didn’t see the frame, or maybe he’ll know you did. He must have put it there for a reason, you think, and then you stop thinking when Jeongguk opens the bathroom door and enters the bedroom.

(24) Tracing your names together in the sand.

Jeongguk had a call from Hawaii. It was brief, and you imagine not very pleasant, but he had to go nonetheless. Jeongguk sure as hell wasn’t going to go to Hawaii without you, no matter how dangerous that might be for him. He told you with two hours notice to pack up your shit and meet him at his place. The plane took off three hours later, and Hawaii here you come.

He never liked to be late, or behind schedule, and so the job that needed to be done was done in a record breaking speed. Like always, he’d have some time to kill before needing to flee to avoid the authorities, and when Jeongguk heads back home after the deed is done, he steps into an empty room and his skin runs cold.

“Y/N?” he calls, to no response. He sets down his things and moves around the suite, his eyes darting to every area.

There is a moment where Jeongguk fears for the worst and out of instinct grabs the gun tucked into his belt. He pulls it out in the bedroom but pauses when out of the corner of his eye, he sees a person standing on the beach just outside the window. Jeongguk pauses.

Outside, the sun is warm and burning orange, sinking down into the pretty waves. You could get used to Hawaii, maybe, if you failed at journalism at the end of your degree, or if Jeongguk hurt your feelings enough that you felt living in Korea itself would be too painful to endure.

“Y/N!”

You turn over your shoulder, noticing Jeongguk stepping down from the dunes. He’s still in his suit, a black fit that makes him look slender and tall and absolutely stunning. His hair is still wild and wet and there’s blood on the inside of his blazer, a red that contrasts the white of his shirt. You won’t mention it, because he probably knows already.

“Hey,” you call back.

“It’s- it’s not safe for you to be out here on your own,” he explains, finally by your side. “Fuck, I was worried you’d been kidnapped, or something.”

“Oh, sorry,” you reply. “The sunset was just too pretty.”

Jeongguk sighs with his hands on his hips. “Yeah, it is. Hawaii does sunsets better than Korea, that’s for sure.”

Jeongguk stands next to you and says nothing for a few seconds. The sunset is indeed gorgeous, like something ripped out of a painting from a gallery somewhere fancy and famous. You hum quietly, and jump slightly to the left to grab a large stick off the sand. Jeongguk has to stop himself from smiling as you pick it up, like a kid who pretends the stick is a sword.

“I used to write rude things in the sand for the people in planes who flew past, every single time we went on vacation when I was a kid,” you announce.

Jeongguk laughs, “You were some kid, huh?”

“Maybe you killed the wrong one,” you think, and Jeongguk frowns.

“Can you not bring that up all the time?” You look at him and he frowns deeper, “I know you’re happy about it and stuff, but like...not my proudest moment. Makes me feel sucky.”

“Oh,” you answer. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just a joke.”

He shrugs, “I know. But still.”

You stab the sand with the stick. “I thought maybe it was like, fitting?”

Jeongguk lifts his head to the sky and closes his eyes. “Can’t we have a trip where we just pretend to be in love or something so I don’t feel so shit about the reason why we came here?”

That shuts you up for a moment, and you turn fully to face him as he continues to stare at the sky.

“Like Colmar, maybe,” you press, and he looks down.

“Yeah.”

It sits there for a bit, like you’re genuinely contemplating it, but then you straighten with a little huff and turn to him.

“Seems fair,” you agree.

Jeongguk almost exhales a sigh of relief and he smiles, genuinely, and follows you across the beach. The tide is a little out, the sand damp where the sea once was and like children, you embrace the fun that’s waiting to be had on the shores. Chasing the waves, running from them, staring at cute crabs that scurry across the sand and laughing at the cute kids that drop their ice creams in the water.

Jeongguk takes the stick gently from your hand and points it towards the white sand, pressing the tip against the grains. You smile against his arm as you bend to see what he draws; the stick drags across the sand and outlines a J, and the first initial of your name. Oh, you think, as he closes them inside a heart and stands back to admire his work.

It’s cute, childishly cute, and he looks proud. Jeongguk beams at you for approval and you smile back, happy.

“Photo,” you say and Jeongguk drops to a crouch near the design and poses with the stick. This photo is cute, probably cuter than the one from Colmar. Jeongguk even lets you keep it.

(25) Wearing clothes in their favourite colour.

Jeongguk’s favourite colour was white, and he loved the way a white shirt or a white coat or any white accessory would look on you. Sadistically he’d love you in the white clothes he ruins, seeing you wrap your body in a white shirt dressed with blood. White was his muse, a colour of purity and innocence. Although he always wore black for work, he had to have an admiration for the colour of white, standard paper or milk white.

Jeongguk knows that your favourite colour is green. He can tell by the amount of green plants around your apartment, and the green blankets and pillows and mugs and the unusual amount of green clothing items you have in your wardrobe. He even remembers the tie you bought him once, a Slytherin green that he actually really likes despite his Hogwarts house being Ravenclaw.

You’ve never actually seen him wear the tie, not until today when Jeongguk makes a quick stop by your apartment as he heads back to the office. He steps inside with a brown bag filled with bagels and he kisses your forehead by the front door and hands them to you. You see the tie and smile; Jeongguk sure as hell looks great in your favourite colour.

(26) Doing a chore for them that you know they aren’t fond of.

You’re lucky that you never really came across Elio, never once when you were at Jeongguk’s home. You had assumed that Elio was sleeping, or elsewhere on days you visited or nights you slept over. To your surprise and perhaps horror, you discovered that Elio had been there all along, just disinterested in coming out to see you from the few rooms that Jeongguk converted into his own personal habitat.

“You just had him here all this time?” you screech quietly, running back into the bedroom after seeing Elio on the couch. “What the fuck.”

“He’s harmless,” Jeongguk shrugs. “He’s not interested in a human diet right now.”

“Right now? That’s not comforting,” you reply. “I’m happy to go through all your shitty paperwork for you, it’s something I actually enjoy, but can you please go out and get them for me?”

Jeongguk cocks his head to the side, “why, can’t find them?”

“They’re in the living room, on the table,” you explain, peering back out, “but Elio’s on the couch.”

He laughs, rising, “He’s not gonna even touch you.”

“He might.”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“No, but he doesn’t hurt me, so he won’t hurt you.”

You gape. “What? He’s your pet, of course he won’t hurt you. He trusts you. He doesn’t even know me.”

Jeongguk sighs loudly and ruffles your hair as he crosses your path. “Whatever. You’re such a fuckin pussy,” then he kisses your neck and heads out into the living room. You quiver by the doorway as he moves without a flinch towards Elio.

The giant cat picks his head up off the couch and yawns in Jeongguk’s direction, his tail swooshing prettily over the side of the couch. His black fur blends into the blanket he lies on and as he blinks slowly, Jeongguk reaches to pet his head and behind his ears. Elio basks in the love, pressing his head further into Jeongguk’s palm, oddly dog-like. Jeongguk spends a few more moments with his beloved exotic and then finally, like he’s reluctant to, picks up the large and messy stack of papers and then walks back towards the bedroom with a smug expression. Elio’s head falls back to sleep.

“Touch me, check I’m still alive after my dangerous encounter,” Jeongguk says, bringing the papers into the room and dropping them on the bed.

“Shut up,” you huff.

(27) Leaving a plate of food in the microwave for when they have a late shift.

A call from Eunji at eight in the evening destroys all the plans you had set in place. Jeongguk had been called to meet with one of the founders of the South Korean Continental, and wouldn’t be back until around nine. You had prepped an entire meal, sitting ready on the side for when he got home.

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t absolutely important,” Eunji apologises, sounding flustered on the line, “I just. I didn’t know who else to call. I went back to the library, I think I got rid of him, but he was definitely following me from the restaurant. Fuck, Y/N, it was so scary.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m glad you called me,” you assure her, already putting your shoes on, “I can’t believe he showed up again. Didn’t he get put in jail?”

Eunji hums like she’s not convinced, “Out on bail, eighty kay.”

“Fuck. Do you, uh,” you start, thinking of if it’s okay to say, “want me to call someone else?” Jeongguk?

Eunji is one of the only people alive who knows about Jeongguk. She had been your best friend since you were seven, and was one of the only people who remained by your side after Jeongguk had your brother executed, and after you decided to become Jeongguk’s little play thing for a few weeks until he lost control and kept you around. Eunji’s no stranger to his antics, and if you warped the story a little, Jeongguk would have no issues with sorting the problem at hand.

“No, no, don’t,” Eunji begs. “He’ll take it too far. People will point fingers at me. Can you just come and get me?”

“Of course,” you tell her. “We’ll go back to mine, I can see Jeongguk whenever.”

Eunji exhales in relief, “I love you, you know that? You’re the best friend ever.”

You hang up a few minutes later and stare sadly at the meal. But it can’t be helped. Jeongguk’s bailed on you a thousand times for his colleagues. He wouldn’t mind, after a few hours of thinking about it. You sigh with repent and move the food towards the microwave.

Rescuing Eunji. Call me, I can come back tomorrow. Please eat.

Jeongguk finds the note when he gets home and scrunches it into a ball in the bin.

He eats alone, in silence, the other side of the table still prepped for another person.

(28) Sharing a drink with them from the same straw.

“Enjoy the movie!”

“Thanks.”

Jeongguk takes the two tickets from the vender and steers you towards the corridor that leads to the rooms. On this rare occasion, Jeongguk has decided to court you. Quite literally, Jeongguk had called you up and asked if you wanted to go on a date, or something, because he was bored and liked you most, and he knows there’s a movie you’ve been wanting to see.

“Are you sure you wanna watch it with me?” you ask him, even though he’s already got the tickets and is walking next to you.

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“I just didn’t think you were a cinema kind of person,” you confess.

Jeongguk hums, “To be honest, I’m not. But this movie looks good, and you wanna see it, and how often do we do things that you wanna do?”

It’s true.

The cinema room is dark and empty, since you’re both early to begin with. As always, it’s a little bit sticky and smelly, and Jeongguk pushes you towards the back row because it is inarguably the best place to sit in the cinema. You set down the large drink in between you both, two straws poking out in each of your directions.

“It’s great this movie is showing here,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, well the LGBT plus movement is really popular now, people are a lot more accepting of it,” Jeongguk states. “I mean, look at how well The Handmaiden did.”

You nod, “great movie.”

“It is,” he agrees. A few minutes later and the lights dim significantly, the movie is probably about to start. Jeongguk leans to the left a little and sips from the drink.

(29) Tucking their hair behind their ear to help them get it out of their face.

Uni’s tough, nobody said it wasn’t. Jeongguk doesn’t really understand this, since he never went to University. He brings a mug of tea from the kitchen to his bedroom where you’re sitting cross-legged staring at a laptop, setting it to the side and sitting just behind you but to your side, watching you closely.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what,” you mutter dimly.

“Overworking yourself,” Jeongguk replies, “I can see your brain fucking pulsing against your skull.”

You sigh loudly. “I can’t do this. Why did I enroll in University? I should have just put it all away after high school and become a trophy wife.”

Jeongguk’s brows furrow. “You can still be a trophy wife, you’ll just be a smart one.”

You look at him. “I’m not smart enough for this.”

For a while, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, and he just sits listening to you. As you vent, and open up about how hard it is to do this damn degree, Jeongguk watches your face and your body and uses his fingers to gently tuck the hair that falls in front of your face behind your ear. The passion that pours out of you when you’re frustrated is an unspoken beauty that you’re not even aware of, and Jeongguk eats it up.

He does what he can to put you at ease, because things he says in encouragement are things you already know anyway. Like all humans, all you need is a little bit of love, and Jeongguk’s happy to give it if it means you’re happy with him.

(30) Helping scratch that itch on their back they can’t reach.

“Can’t reach. Baby, scratch my back for me?”

You cringe away from the TV, “what the fuck am I? Your maid?”

“Please?”

You sigh. “Where’s it itching?”

“Thanks, you’re the best.”

“You don’t pay me enough for this.”

“I don’t pay you at all.”

Sigh. “Exactly.”

[krobuss]

nerds

Word Count: 1000~ || Time Taken: 30 mins.

Summary: I couldn't decide between Outdoors and Recording so I did both. This is messy and I'll tweak it when I'm not in pain.

Tags: @septiplierweek

<->-<->

The best thing to ever happen to YouTubers had to be the vlog. It was easy to do, pretty easy to edit together, and it was still somehow intriguing to audiences. When Mark went to visit Jack in Brighton for a month, vlogs were something he fell onto hard when the gaming videos in storage ran out and he felt bad asking to borrow Jack's place (even though he did once or twice).

Today was no exception.

Mark turned on the camera, too tired to care for the awkward angles or the fact that Jack was clinging to him with every intention on staying under the covers. There was nothing obscene about the image, just two dudebros cuddling in the same bed with messy hair.

Mark yawned, rubbing at his eyes before speaking in a low voice. "It is currently 6:00 in the morning, Sean is not letting me get out of bed and honest to God, I am going to murder this alarm clock for not letting me sleep in. It's been two weeks in Brighton and this damn thing hasn't let me adjust at all since I've got here. At this point, I'm pretty sure my boyfriend is a demonic entity that likes to torture poor souls with loud alarm clocks." Jack mumbled something and Mark adjusted the camera, placing it on the bedside table so it could continue recording but only have the alarm clock in its view. "Jack, wake up, we have stuff to do."

"No."

"You're the one that sets up that godawful thing, suffer the consequences."

Another whine, some shuffling, and a thump later and Mark was facing the camera towards him again, grinning. They walked out of the room anf to the kitchen. "He kicked me off of the bed. I'm going to get some coffee for us to hopefully lift up his mood." The footage cut off.

The next scene of the video was taking place in the kitchen. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows and both males sat in their pajamas at the table, eating some breakfast.

"I made the coffee but Jack here made the food and the Irish must have some magic in them because these are the best eggs I've ever had and he made them the same way everybody does."

"You're just biased because you love me."

"I do, don't I?" They shared a smile before Mark wad talking to the camera again. "Today we're gonna go to an amusement park that opened up nearby. Apparently, the rollercoasters in the UK are 'so much better' than the ones in America." He spoke with quotation marks and an eye roll, throwing a grin across his shoulder at Jack's offended look.

"They are! Prepare your socks to be completely blown off," Jack shouted shortly before shoveling a piece of bacon into his mouth, grinning like a mad man. Mark rolled his eyed with a smile, before turning the camera off.

Another cut and they were walking along a sidewalk, a fence behind them and people trying to desperately avoid the camera's view. Both boys were combed, clean, and dressed, the weather sunny despite most of the days being cloudy.

"It's been raining the past few days so I know for a fact that this sun is a blessing sent specifically for us to have a good time." Jack waved at the camera with his free hand, the other one clasped in Mark's. His chin settled uncomfortably onto Mark's shoulder and the half-Korean couldn't help that his cheeks warmed.

"Everything is going our way; I can't wait to see how things get fucked over," Jack giggled, deciding it too hard to be walking on a crowded sidewalk, hold hands with Mark, and keep his chin up on the other's shoulder. "I have this little umbrella just in case things go to shit for me."

"You're only going to cover yourself? What if I have cotton candy and it starts raining?" Mark said, already pouting. Upon hearing Jack say he'll take the cotton candy with him under the umbrella, Mark pouted more just as the video cut off again.

The next minute of the video was a compliation of pictures the two took of each other: eating food, getting onto the rollercoaster, Jack regretting getting onto said rollercoaster, winning prizes, losing money, a lot of blurry shots of the two screaming together and particularly dizzying rides. The last photo contained the two cuddling up in what fans assumed to be a tunnel of love, smiles on both of their faces. The photo faded out to Jack holding the camera, eyes bright and corners of his mouth turned up, both of them sitting on a couch as a movie played in the background.

"So, Mark, what did we learn?"

"That you absolutely suck at not puking on rollercoasters." The smile turned into a scowl and Mark recieved a punch on the arm, both boys giggling. "But, America does need to step up its game on rollercoasters."

"So I was right?"

"I've said this like, twenty times, Sean, you were right! I can't believe you're filming my defeat for the sake of watching it again later on."

"I'm recording because you said you were too tired to give them any other footage! If I happen to catch you saying I'm right while doing it, well--" The camera jostled and fell onto the ground, the only thing visible was the leg of a coffee table and two pairs of feet covered in socks.

"If that's broken, you're paying me back for it."

"Will a kiss be enough payment?"

A pause. "Well, I mean, it's a start."

A mumble came before a muffled giggling but the video cut off at that moment and, an hour after it's publishing, fans deemed the audio too quiet to decipher. That was just as well

[joshuazev]

On 570:

One thing I’ve learned after being in the big apple for a while now is that if you go the whole day without taking the subway or at least getting out of the house to go and walk somewhere you’re probably not doing something right.  The past couple of days I didn’t make it underground.  Sure, I was a little busy here and there, but to not do at least the bare minimum of living or exploring in this big city is a tragedy in every sense of the word.  Today, after starting to feel like I was becoming a couch potato, I made a strong effort to leave my room and leave the parameters of the sheltered.  Even though I didn’t end up leaving until the early afternoon it already felt like a small victory.  All the proof was in the pudding: leaving the apartment, walking to the train, descending the Washington Heights escalator, being on the train until West 4th St. and then exiting the station…it felt nice to live a little, again.  Granted, there were reasons I stayed behind and didn’t take part in the daily ritual of the other millions, but in any case, this city, this culture of movement, this speed?  You gotta be on your feet!  Passivity and sitting on your ass is nothing but decay.  

I watched as the things inside of my apartment vanished one by one.  Couches, chairs, vanities, mirrors, brooms, silverware, you name it we were getting rid of it.  One of the things I enjoyed the most was giving our soon-to-be-discarded items to our neighbors in the building.  One time I was making a quick trip to the trash heap outside, getting ready to give away some of our unwanted things, and while transitioning the objects from our apartment to the elevator, the elevator door opened and an older Dominican lady came out.  She asked me if I was getting ready to throw away the stuff and i said I was.  When she opened the door to her space one of her friends came out as well to examine the things.  Little by little, the large cargo for the elevator lessened and before I actually got on, the two ladies had happily taken about three quarters of our stuff.  This can go in the bathroom, they’d say.  This can go in the living room, they’d add.  And if we don’t like it or don’t need it, we’ll take it down later.  It felt good to know that our stuff was going to be people that wanted it.  This trend continued over the course of the past few days.  If we were getting rid of stuff at night, the trio of ladies sitting down, all Doñas in their own right, would ask if it was trash and then if they wanted it, would set it aside.  AC units, stools, chairs, both comfy and uncomfy were snatched up within seconds.  

To look at an empty apartment is quite the experience, especially when so many memories—however small they may be—play out in front of you.  The kitchen, where Gabe throw down some of the most awesome plates known to vegetarian man.  Even as a hardcore carnivore I always approved during my taste testings.  He was a master chef with the spatula and kitchen tools, always eating healthily, always with a gang of fruits and vegetables to balance whatever bit of momentary sugary cheating he was getting into.  Like a big brother he’d always suggest things to me when I was attempting to prepare, make, or create something simple.  How bout a little of this?  A little of that?  Oh, you know what would be great with that?  Of course, in my sickening rotation of salads, spaghetti, eggs, and other generic meals there was only so much he could suggest, but he was always down to drop a jewel or two.  Then there was James in his flip flops and shorts making his Spam, heating up his rice, cooking a crazy big steak, and drinking out of his Star Wars mug.  Michelle?  If Michelle was in the kitchen she was throwing down on some cheese and crackers.  Some wine, too.  Very posh, but very super fly, too.  I wouldn’t say I’m disappointed with my output in la cocina, but there is obviously a whole lot of room for improvement.  It was in this kitchen that I officially stopped eating yogurt.  I tried with the Trader Joes as a substitute for Danon Coffee, but my stomach finally made it’s voice heard.  THIS DOESN’T FEEL GOOD, STOP FEEDING ME DAIRY YOU IGNORANT FUCK!  IT’S ONLY CALLED MAKING A SACRIFICE IF YOU DO IT ONCE OR TWICE, NOT EVERY FUCKING DAY!  (Aside: My stomach is an asshole.  I don’t know why he has to yell all the time).  In this kitchen I got acquainted with toast and dope scrambles equipped with smoked trout, smoked salmon, avocado, and black beans.  Many an avocado toast were made in that kitchen.  

The living room was where I saw more Boston Celtics game than I had ever thought I would see in my life.  Obviously trying to stay up to date with the goings on of Isaiah Thomas, there were several moments where I couldn’t sit in the couch anymore and was crouched, in a stance and glued to the screen.  Many a day yelling at the TV.  I can remember watching the game when Isaiah hit the shot against the Hawks to give them a lead.  I screamed and yelled, high stepped and fist pumped.  I’m very grateful for the sports memories that TV provided.  Even saw the Cubs win the World Series on that TV.  That living room played bedroom to me many a time when people were visiting and was the platform for a freshly pumped air mattress when I got super drunk and passed out early on my birthday.  Lots of talks.  Lots of chats.  Lots of meals.  Lots of late nights sat crouched down in front of my computer trying to conjure up a new post for all of the wonderful readers out there.  A lot of squeaks, shuffles and scurries from the little critters that couldn’t resist visiting.  A lot of “SARAH!!” heard from the annoying motherfucker outside who couldn’t call the girl for some reason.  A lot of life happening outside of the windows.  

A lot of nighttime mummy walks not being able to see shit in those hallways trying to go to the bathroom and then return to my bedroom safely.  A lot of “Shit!” and “Fuck!” from bouncing from wall to wall.

My first official (year-lease) room was a blessing from the heavens.  Looking for apartments in New York sucks and is every other annoying, tiring, and negative adjective you could think of.  When I first heard about my apartment it was through a text through a friend that told me there was an opening.  I didn’t think anything of it because it was out of my price range, despite the room being really big and really nice.  Then it got down to crunch time and I hadn’t found any spot yet.  I asked the same friend and I reached out to one of the other roommates, Jasmine, who told me the room was still available and she’d be down to show me the place.  Jaz was awesome.  I’m sure she had had a lot of offers from the spot, but she was super chill and showed me around the apartment.  The room I’d be taking was $900 before utilities, which was way out of my price range.  I was worried I wouldn’t be able to afford it.  Before we even got to that point Jasmine and I just talked and listened to some music, exchanged some artists we were listening to and just vibed out.  I could tell we were going to get along if we lived together.  A little discouraged to let a place like that go, I left the apartment wishing that the circumstances could change.  Still hadn’t found a place and with every passing day I was expecting the worst.  Then, I got a call or a message from Jasmine or Michelle (it’s all a little cloudy because it feels so long ago) that they were willing to play musical rooms and let me get one of the cheaper ones so I could live there.  I was elated.  My first forreal space in New York!  Shoutout to Greg and Udoka for helping make that possible and shoutout to Jasmine and Michelle for welcoming me with open arms.  That room was amazing.  Thousands of pushups and hours of planks went down in that room.  Hundreds of glances in the mirror to make sure I looked fly.  Opening the curtains and shutting them depending on the weather outside.  Waking up to the sun.  Waking up to the clouds.  Having a ritual of waking up on Saturday and Sunday, looking out the window at the blue or the grey, and listening to John Coltrane or Miles Davis.  And many nights turning off the lights and laying down on my bed with my back on the sheets and looking up at the ceiling with my eyes open thinking about life, thinking about my existence and my path in the world. feeling happy, feeling depressed, feeling like shit, feeling like air, feeling like a golden ticket, feeling like a rusty coin.  Tossing and turning and occasionally drooling on my pillow until I found the comfortable spot, the groove on my right shoulder.  

Stumbling out of bed in the mornings after not getting any sleep, putting on the same gym uniform every day, leaving the oven on at 350 and leaving only to come back after being halfway to the station to come and shut it off.  hauling that heavy ass AC unit from the East side all the way uptown.  Jhana and then Gabe.  Jasmine and then James.  Me and then me.  Michelle and then Michelle.  

Finally making it onto the roof today with no alarm blaring at an intruder.  Taking in the six plus flights of building and the awesome neighborhood that, for the time being, I’m still allowed to call home. The last walk through after everything was gone, all the lights still on, an apartment so empty and so filled with memories.  Made me feel like Will during the last scene of Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

570 W 183rd Apt. 6A.  New York, NY 10033.  I’m gonna miss you.