Side Hustle/ Short Stories

Tales from The List - No. 5: Mr. One Night Stain

  • Paix Robinson

Chapter 5 finds Paix, at 23 in the middle of magic and madness. Having just bought his one way ticket from California to NYC in the Summer of 2012, with only $500 in the bank and a duffle bag full of romanticism and vigorous youth. featuring illustrations by Brady Drose / IG: @bradydrose

for FULL STORY CLICK HERE

July 30th 2012

Dear Journal,

New York is fucking amazing, and also hella deep.

Since we last spoke I have trained for a job at the French/Creole Resto on Ave C, Arcane, and landed a job with Think Productions as a PR/Brand Consultant for their ‘Think Thin’ products, which to me definitely sounds like I will be passing out hella health bars in popular tourist traps. But at $21.50 an hour, I will do it, Amen! Buying that one-way ticket  was by far the best idea I have had since buying that one-way ticket to France. This first month has been all of the ups I knew it would be, and even the downs one would expect. I see it all as part of the necessary struggle. So embrace it I must as it is either that, or perish into the streams of gutters and lost dreamers who live to tell no more tales under midnight lamplight. I seek the night and turn her quarrels into the paying of dues. Always joyous after, having tackled another mountain on this rock with cinematic gestures and iPod symphonies. Last night though, was mos def not that. Last night was a hot ass mess. Undoubtedly shameful, but in ways that must certainly (hopefully) have to be-somewhat-somewhere-kinda-normal. Regardless, it is definitely a story worth telling, as most of my life is.......

[except]

..............

Since I arrived on the 4th of July in the liteal intent of my own indepence, I have spent just about every day writing poetry on firescapes and rooftops, or walking for miles with an inspired absolution to nowhere. It all takes place below 14th street, between Ave C and the Hudson. When I do travel north aside from work, it is to be with my darling Dani. After Northwestern she moved to Harlem, near the 135th stop off the C or the A at 125th. I will take any and all opportunity to see Dani. And I totally have since I was twelve and we have not lived in the same city since high school. My trips from L.A. to N.Y. for Fashion Week over the past few years were cool, but now I live here so there was no - ‘ahh I have to leave and I really do not want to’. Now we could really fuck shit up. Most of which honestly just involves aimless walking with a spliff rolled and ready or smoking on Harlem stoops in the mid-summer nights humidity. When she does venture downtown there's always dancing.
Not the cute American Bandstand- top 40’s doing hella shit of vodka and red bull. I mean sweat fueled - feet hurt and you do not care - play that funky music white boy - where am I? - fuck it! -  I don’t care - what is that and can I touch it?- please don't stop the music type shit.
These specific nights with Dani usually take place in the company of Papí, her 65-/+ year old Cuban drug dealer boyfriend. I know. I can't even. It's fine. She’s happy and he’s got a monster cock. I've totally seen it. True Story.
While my days spent with Dani are always amazing, this past weekend I decided to venture out on my own. Living in the Lower East Side has its perks which tend to air on the downsides depending on when you were born and the status of your checking account. But that is New York!........

FOR FULL STORY