Part 8 Alogorithms of the Heart

I didn't waste any time and immediately dove into the world of online dating in the hot pursuit of finding another relationship I could fuck up.

But what dating site?  Match.com?   E-harmony.com? Sexy Nutjobs.com?  Desperate People.com?  No Way in Hell.com?  YouGottaBeKidding.com?

I went on one well known dating-site.  A banner popped up and said I could  have a free trial search. Wow, I could search for women for free!  Good.  At least I can get a taste for what's in store.  All I had to do was fill out the questionaire.  Not an easy process.

There was some tough questions, too   I had to check off  a long list of activities and interests men and women like to do.  But I didn't see a box for "Feeling sorry for myself" "Rant"  "Obsess" 

In the "Describe Yourself"  section I wrote: I am  a six foot tall martial arts teacher who writes poetry,  likea to cook gourmet dinners, find romantic hideaways in the Himalayas,  rescue dogs, go on humanatarian missions to the Sudan,  and on Sunday hop on my Harley and go antiquing with the Hells Angels.

But then thought it was a tad of a stretch, so I wrote:

 Creative warm-hearted guy who has a passion for film, art, nyc and people watching.

I soon discovered there were hundreds if not thousands of creative, warm hearted guys who have a passion for film, art, nyc and people.  

Eventually I completed the questionaire with an equal mix of bullshit and truth.  The site instantly went to work trying to find me a potential mate.

I discovered it  truly was a wonderful site and they came through with women who would love to meet me: And from their descriptions, they all shared common interests with me.

I like to sit on the couch and go through the entire 120 channels without really stopping on any channel longer than five minutes.

I love love love to wear New Balance Sneakers every day even in the rain.  And spend quiet, romantic evenings cuddling and watching the fall of Berlin on the Military channel.

 I like the pre-cooked turkey breast in Trader Joe's, steamed vegetables and hoping to meet a jewish guy who just separated from his wife who talks passionately with food in his mouth.

But then I thought.  Wait a minute.  Is this some kind of scam?  I mean, I know I'm drop dead gorgeous, but were they using these beautiful academians to lure me into shelling out 150 bucks for a six month membership?

Ah, what the heck.  I took out my credit card and bought a six month membership.  Now that I was a six

month member of Match, I went pressed the search button.  Wham!  Another set of perfect matches came up.    A slightly different skew of women:

I fell for it.  They should change the name of the site to Sucker.Com.

My next move was to go on Craigslist.  Yeah, I heard a lot of stories about how it's just a site for freaks and sleazy escort services, but looking at some of the ads, it seemed like some nice, sincere women, too.

Before I wrote my ad, I thought I would take a look at what some of the other guys wrote to get an idea of how to write my own ad.    I made some intereating observations.  Contrary to most women's belief that all men were liars, there were some guys who had the strong character trait of honesty like this guy:

MATURE BUSTY GAL WANTED - 51 (NY)

And guys who seemed to ponder profound questions of existence:




Do you have a nice ass? (Downtown)
The ads themselves were really well written.  Some guys were big hearted and weren't afraid of giving:

Did you awaken with an itch you don't want to scratch by yourself? - 46 (Upper East Side)

Oh, you could, and I understand that the Japanese even make devices (some battery operated) that can help you reach that pulsing need and help out if nothing better is at hand. But there is something -- someone -- better at hand. Me. I'm tall, fit, healthy, fun to talk to, reasonably handsome, D/D free (but I don't mind if you do weed or otherwise engage in responsible self-medication), intellectually stimulating (because there are times when your mind needs to be stimulated along with the flesh) and well equipped for the task at hand.

For the right woman (non-obese, sensible, no STDs, discreet), I can be a much better alternative than going it alone, and lots lots more fun, too. /

The women, on the other hand, were seeking another level of romance:

Seeking a LTR and maybe start a family. - 40 (Norwalk)

 Looking for a LTR and maybe start a family with the right person.

I am looking for someone family oriented wanting to build a happy life together.

I'm intelligent,honest and down to earth. If you feel the same please e-mail me. Please be from CT.

As I read both the men's ads and the women's ads I actually saw some perfect matches.   For example: This woman whose love of culture and all things intellectual and artistic:

Spring Gift: Beauty/Intellect - 59 (Manhattan)

 Thinker, artist spirited, graceful, energetic, intellectually curious and caring. Enjoy good conversation and communication. SWF, very young looking.

A head turner, slender, 5 feet 7 inches tall, exotic looking, I look Italian, Greek, Latin or Spanish. I am slim, hazel eyes, Auburn hair, light olive skin.

Interested in cultural activities such as museums, galleries, theater, music, literature, dance and cinema.

My Latin nature loves to dance and the artist in me enjoys the arts. Do you live in New York City, single/divorced, attractive, professional, kind successful, good conversationalist, interested in the arts, enjoy candlelight dinners, would you care to join me? Are you 58 or over?)/

...would be a perfect match for this guy whose rapier wit made him him a modern day Oscar Wilde:

----

I only use Magnum condoms... - 33 (Upper West Side)

...to make water balloons.

I am interested in meeting an adventurous, sexy (both in looks and attitude), positive, and educated woman.

Not interested in escorts, strippers, drug users, or shallow people. No drama, no baggage. I generally go for white or Asian but open to others.

Words get in the way to define what I want...FWB, NSA, LTR, etc. I realized I can't fit into the labels. Instead, what I want is ultimately, to simply make a memorable and intimate connection (body & mind) with a fascinating woman. Where it goes depends power of the connection, as we surrender to the mystery of this elusive force that drives us and keeps us in pursuit. Do you measure up? Why would I want to get to know you?

I am SWM, grad degree educated, gainfully employed, handsome, witty, funny, and I know how to please those that deserve it./

----

I decided not to write any ads, but to answer ads.  I did some of my best writing on Craigslist.  My talent for finding new and addictive ways to get a hit of Dopamaine was working big time.  I became obsessed with seeing if I got any answers to the ads I've written.  Most of the time I didn't get any response.   Generally when I sent my profile pic.  A profile pic is essential, it's the bait that lures the pretty fishes to the hook, it's a big selling point.  Unfortunately my photo wasn't a true representation of how I actually looked.  But it was the only photo I had at the time:

My ad writing flourished.  On  the second or third day on Craigslist I answered an ad with the headline:  

DESIRE

There was a flowery prose style to her ad.   I wrote back in a prosiac style.

It was pure poetry.  And it worked.  She bought it.  She wrote me back.  We went back and forth with some pseudo phoney intellectual bullshit--then she asked me to describe myself.  I did.  Ending with: "I'm mean, lean, and cut."

She wrote: " Cut?  Do you have that line that goes from the hip to the groin?"

I wrote back:  "As a matter of fact, I do."

She wrote:  "Hmmm, I wonder what would happen if I gently moved my finger from your hip to the groin."

What would happen instantly happened.  The Dopamine kick was kickin' big time.  Our e mails now took a sly, erotic turn.

I wanted to send a photograph.  But she refused to send a photograph.

She was very secretitive and kind of paranoid.  She said she wanted our relationship to be mysterious, intriguing.

Then she called me.  We talked on the phone for over two hours.  The subject matter on the phone conversation was very different from the e mails.

She was from Singapore.  Half Chinese and Indian.  She once worked for the diplomatic core and she always referred to herself in the third person.  Her name was Sulan.

Sulan:  "Oh, Sulan never does anything she doesn't want to do.  No one tells Sulan want to do.  Sulan was married and divorced and now Sulan is  free.  Sulan will not give up her freedom."  

We discussed a wide range of subjects.  Most of it intellectual and philosophical.  She worked in a hospice.  She read many many books.  She expressed her hesitation about continuing our growing relationship-she thought it was too early for me to be in a new relationship.

We spoke for two hours.  Very straight and intellectual.   And then, bizarrely,  the flirty, sexual e mails with the sexual overtones were back in town.

We exchanged e mails every morning.  

It was the third day of our email-ationship.  I was looking for things for my apartment--when I received a text from her.

Sulan's Text:   WHAT ARE YOU'RE WEARING?

Yeah, baby, I said in my best Austin Powers accent.  

My Text:    BRIEFS

It was love at first text.  I can't believe it.  I found someone who shared my interests!!!

I wasn't sure where this was leading, but for two hours we kept exchanging e mails that slowly and sensually built to out and out, down and dirty sexting.   My sextexts were getting hotter.  And so were her replies:

Sulan's Text:    WHY STROKE, WHEN I COULD USE MY MOUTH?

That opened the door, and what spilled out from my mind was pure disgusting filth that would definitely pull in a full time job writing for the  Penthouse Forum.

Sulan's Text:  HOW DO YOU LIKE TO DO IT?

I told her.  And then I asked how she likes to do it?

Sulan's Text:  I LIKE TO DO IT ON THE FLOOR, ON THE TABLE,  I LIKE IT TO DO  IT IN PUBLIC PLACES.

I replied back with equal abandon and truth.

 She then texted me:

Sulan's Text:  WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW?

Me:                  I'M IN BED BATH AND BEYOND.

I was.  I was in the linen department in Bed, Bath an Beyond holding a comforter and  a shower curtain under my arm, banging out the texts with such mad glee the manager asked  me to leave because my panting was distracting  the customers.

When I got home she called me.  Thinking this was the moment where we dive into some hot phone sex.  The intellectual Sulan was on the other side.

No sexual overtones.  Again, referring herself in the third person.

Sulan:  Oh, Sulan loves all kinds of beauty.  Sulan can just sit under a tree and become a part of nature.  Sulan doesn't really need men.  Sulan will flow like the spirit of the wind.   

But the  erotic, tropical air flow of our texts returned and flowed the next few days.  For luck, I made sure I was in Bed, Bath and Beyond every night holding a comforter and a shower curtain under my arm.  But I had to hide from the manager in kitchenware.   

Because we never exchanged photographs, we never knew what we actually looked like.  It made it all the more sexually intriguing.  Finally, the day came.  I waited inside the vestibule of the restaurant at 12 sharp.  A thin sexy Asian woman walked in and I looked up with a big smile.  But she walked right by me and and sat at a table where a business guy was sitting.

Then she walked in.  We looked at each other.

Me: Sulan?

Sulan:  Yes?  Are you...?

 "Yeah.  Hi.  It's so nice to meet you. Boy, what a rainy day. Want to sit down?"

We sat down and looked at each other.  Our body language mirrored reach other. Crossed arms, crossed legs, crossed eyes.  I would have top say it was a tad uncomfortable.

The waiter walked over to the table.  He read off the specials of the day for the next five minutes--which took the pressure off - and then asked if we were ready to order.

Sulan:  I'll just have a small glass of Coke.  

Me:     Me, too.   And we'll get the check.

I stopped going to Bed Bath and Beyond. 

But I kept going  on Craigslist.  And I also went on this free dating site OK Cupid.  I put up my profile pic and sent a quirky message to a woman who had an interesting look.  I was attracted to her unconventional style.  After a few days, I got a response from her.

She was cool, creative and rock and roll slutty.  We wrote funny e mails, I learned she was a performer,  dancer and lived in Brooklyn.  

 We decided not to talk to each other on the phone.   We wanted to surprise ourselves.  But, I have to admit, my emails were pretty good and one night she called me.  I heard a party in the background.

Cheryl:  I couldn't help myself I had to hear your voice.

Me:       It's a bit Brooklyn.  Not sure if it goes with the emails.

Cheryl:  I like your voice.  It has character.  What about mine.

Me:       I like your voice.  Sexy.

Cheryl:  Tell me something provocative.

I wasn't sure what she meant.  Yet, I was pretty sure what she meant.

Me:      Provocative?

Cheryl (she whispered):  Yes, provocative.  Tell me something provocative.

Me:  You know, I have to be honest with you.  I'm looking for a solid relationship.  Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty crazy and like to do crazy things, too, but think it's not the right thing to do if we want something that lasting. That's what I'm looking for.

Cheryl:  You're right.  Absolutely right.  It's what I'm looking for, too.  I'm not really like that.  I'm a good girl.  And you are so right and really I respect you for saying that.  I want something long lasting, too.

The phone sex  was hot and heavy for a pretty long time.

My creative powers were in full bloom.  After it was all over:

Me:  I really didn't want to do that.

Cheryl:  Me neither.

The next day we met.  We sat for a two hours, exchanging our life stories.   We agreed to meet again once she gets out of rehab.

I kept at it and met a lot of great women.

One woman I met was a psychiatrist.  I thought: I don't know if it's  such a good thing for me to meet a psychiatrist.  But she was very interesting. We met for coffee and talked for  50 minutes.  She was bright, funny, and she also took Cigna.

Online dating is  not the most natural way of finding someone. Best case scenario would be to just let it happen.  I'm still searching.     But, man, there are times where I have to ask myself: Why?  Why go through all the pain and rejection and disappointment?  Why go through  moments of    "You're not my type."  "Do you want to get together again."  "Not really.  "Hey, I never received a response from you?  "Sorry, not interested."

Whenever I ask "why?", I remember  the writings of one of the greatest philosophers of the 20th Century, whose words expressed a deep insight into the metaphysics of a man's soul:

Part 7 Friends.net

But there was a lot of  good coming out of all this, too.  I had a lot of great friends who gave me a lot of love and support.   And they all gave me solid advice.  Some of my women friends said take your time, find yourself again, build a new life, you have to learn to love yourself again.   And the guys really came through with ways that would help change my perspective of the situation:

                                                          

  Every one of my friends gave me solid advice on how to handle the tough situation.  Stu really had an insight into my new life.

Stu:   What the hell are you complaining for?  Don't you get it.  You're free.  You have all this freedom.   You can just go out there and do anything you want.  Anything  No discussions.  No negotiations.  No obligations.  It's your own life. Free as a bird. You can live life for you.  You're free, man, free!  Jeez, I gotta go.  I have to pick up my wife's dry cleaning before the cleaners closes.

My friend Annie was very supportive and really came through with some wise words.

Annie:    Take your time.  You don't need to rush into a relationship right away.  You need to find yourself again.  You need to be you.  I really think doing yoga would be good for you.  It would relax you.  You need to find your center.  And from that center you will find calm, tranquility--you'll be at a better place.  And from that better place, you'll be able to have a strong relationship.  You'll be able to be more giving in the relationship"

Meanwhile, my friend Al,  had a slightly different take:

Al: Go find yourself some young chick and fuck your brains out.  Listen to me  That's the best medicine for you right now. Go fuck your brains out.  I know it's hard, and you're feeling a lot of pain.  I know, I've been there.  Three times.  So listen to your buddy Al.  Find yourself a young girl with big tits and fuck your brains.  Okay?  You'll do that for your buddy Al?

Me:  Okay.

Al:  Fuck.  Your.  Brains.  Out.  Say it after me.  I...

Me  Al, please, come on...

Al:   Hey, hey...come on I want you to say it.  ...I will...

Me:  ...I will...

Al:   ... Fuck...

Me:    ... Fuck...

Al:  ...  My...

Me:      My...

Al:  ...brains out.

Me:   ... brains out.

Al:  Want me to write it down so you remember?

Me:  No, Al, thanks, really.  Now I know why you run  Human Resources.  You're really a people person.

Al:  No problem.  I got to go.  But I'll send you a text, later, to remind you.

 I don't know how I made it through that week without the love and support of my friends  There wasn't a day that would go by that  my friends didn't call.  And, Al, bless his soul was a great friend.   And even though I knew his constant barrage of "Go Fuck Your Brains Out" texts  came from the heart, it was getting a little annoying

                                               

Part 6 A Moment of Reflection

\

                                      

       

I wobbled into the bathroom, turned on the bathroom light and stood there, staring at my reflection.  Time etched on my face.  I spoke to the man in the mirror.

Me:  Why?  Why did this happen?  There has to be some reason why I couldn't make the marriage work.

Suddenly, staring back at me was my mother,  speaking to me in that sweet, loving tone of voice that brought back all those fond memories of her fucking my head up.

Mom:  Stop feeling sorry for yourself.  There's a lot of good looking men as old as you with thinning hair that meet lots of nice women. Stand up straight.  You got to do something with that posture.  How many times I told you to sit up straight when you were at the table.  Didn't I tell you that.  Didn't I say you were going to get bad posture?  Well, Mr. Big Shot, you're posture is not so good. Didn't I tell you? What are you worried about? You have a good job.  How come your commercials  aren't as funny as they use to be?
Maybe you should get new glasses.   You know what you're problem is, you're angry, why are you so angry?  Was I that bad of a mother?   I was a good mother to you, I never once said anything mean-- are you brushing your teeth, it's a little yellow, I don't know what to do with you.  Maybe you should move near me.  Forget her.  She was a nice woman but I knew you two weren't right for each other.  You need someone to take care of you. Maybe you should move near me.  You're a bright boy. There's plenty of crazy women like you out there you can meet. You know what you're problem is?  You don't have any confidence.   Why so neurotic?  I don't understand it.  I was such a bad mother?  You know what--you aged a little.  What's the big deal, we all age. You got a lot going for you--you look thin, are you still with that crazy diet of yours? Your complexion doesn't look so good.  It's red and blotchy.    Are you using the right soap?  You always had bad complexion, ever since you were born you had problems with your face.  I just don't understand why your relationship didn't last

 Suddenly it  dawned on me.  For the last five minutes, I was listening to someone else's mother in my bathroom mirror.

Part 5 In Space, No One Can Hear You Scream

That night  l passed  a lone shoe oddly sitting in the middle of the sidewalk on 1st ave.  I stopped and just stared at it and wondered why only one shoe? What happened to the other shoe?  Shoes are supposed to be in pairs.  I truly felt that shoe's loneliness.  And right then and there, I decided to use the image of that lonely size 9  shoe to write a pretentious metaphor.

The first night sleeping in my new apartment was surreal.  It was very Philip Guston.  Philip Guston  started out as an Abstract Expressionist painter who took a sudden turn down a creative path and went from the abstraction of that period to bizarre cartoony images of disembodied heads,  hob nailed shoes, hooded klux klan men painting chomping on a  big cigar or cigarette. The critics hated it.  But, to me, it was a brilliant expression of his own disembodied mind and soul, isolation, and paranoia--that also paralleled  the same disembodied  mind and soul and paranoia that the country was experiencing at the time.  

It was a period in my life of discoveries.  I discovered many things.  I discovered that the fitted sheets I brought from home didn't fit my bed so the ends popped everytime I was on it.  I discovered that some guy named Joey lived in my building because all night his friend kept yelling under my window "Jo-eyyy!  Jo-eyyy!!!! Jo-eyyy,  I got that thing!"  I discovered that to stop the toilet water constantly swirling  I had to jiggle the handle everytime I flushed   I discovered my upstairs neighbor was the worst kind of insomniac.  One who wore dutch clogs.

Laying on my new CB2 modern couch that had all the comfort of a trampoline, the movie of my marriage played in my head.   I couldn't help play over and over again all the mistakes I had made.  My wife was a saint, a good hearted woman and we both worked on trying to keep the marriage together.  But, to be honest, I wasn't the easiest person to get along with.  I was a bit, how shall you say intense.   And there were many incidents that must have been very hard for her. Like that one incident on the plane,  when we went on vacation to Aruba.  I believe after that, it was the beginning of the end.

                                                    

Eventually  the soothing voice of my neighbor wafted through the thin walls  and rocked me to sleep: "I'm not leaving the apartment I lived in for 30 years! You hear me!   I'm not leaving the apartment I lived in for 30 years!   I'm not leaving!  You can throw me out in the street for all you want!  I'm not leaving!"

Part 4 Conquering Space

This is it!  A new beginning.  I've traded the 7:17 from Scarborough Station listening to Andy the death lawyer talking to Jerry the bankruptcy lawyer about  how the  Trump Golf course "is some course, I got to tell you." to taking the 6 train to 51st street listening to a guy with a tattoo on his forehead talking about why Glocks are number one and all that other shit is shit.

Now the hard part.  I had to actually furnish the apartment.


 I thought this was the perfect time to change my style.  To create an entirely new theater where my new life could play out.  That would capture the essence of my reawakened soul.

I thought: what about something that really reflects the wild vibrancy of my creative mind.  Something cool. Modern--and, boy wouldn't it be great to have a bathroom door in the shape of a giant sphere. I would  live out a new theme in my life: Modern Man Living in Apt 6E.

                                                      
I kind of liked the visual in my head, but then it occurred to me.  The giant bathroom door sphere wouldn't fit in the elevator and moving it in the middle of the night when I have to pee would be a pain.  So then I thought, you know, with my head filled with thoughts like a freight train that never seems to end,  why not something minimal, calming.  Zen.  Yeah, zen.  Peaceful.   A place I can go to find peace and serenity.  To reach a state of non being-but with a 46" flat screen and DVR.

                                          

Ah, who am I kidding.  Inner peace would drive me up the wall.  Wait! What about an interior  design that would reflect my softer side.   A Laura Ashley vibe?

                                      
Hmm, not sure if my gap jeans, my  gap shirt with the sleeves too long, my blue Sweat shirt that screams NEW YORK and the kind of fast, neurotic gum chewing style I have would match the pattern and look.

Eventually I finally decided I would order my couch, a white dining room table, rug, and bed from CB2.
It would all be delivered on the same day.  No anxiety.  Simple.

                                        
By 1 PM--boom, I was moved in.  My crib has been created.  I soon discovered one sticking point to this particular interior decorating idea... every time I walked into CB2 the show room floor looked exactly like my apartment.   All I had to do was stand in the middle of  my apartment and say "One minute I will be right with you" and it would me CB2.   But the anxiety of picking myself up from where I lived for 20 years and dropping myself in a new space was pretty fucken heavy.  Note the use of "fucken" to give added weight to the weight I was feeling.  And this was an easy solution.


The first night alone in the city, single, living apart from my family, was really hard.   Man, it was lonely.
And being in the middle of hundreds of people who appeared to be living happy lives, can be even lonelier.  The only human interaction I had that night,  was with a homeless guy who said I looked like Grizzly a guy he use to hang with and drink pints of Thunderbird in front of the kitchen supply store on Bowery.


Homeless Guy:  Nah, you ain't Grizzly.  Sorry, man, if you were I would have said you owe me a pint cause that last sip wuz suppose to go to me."


You may have noticed there is a running theme through this, or an emerging theme.  That is, there are moments where I see my life as  scenes of all the movies and all the art that affected me.

                  

But there was one saving grace that night.  As I walked down 14th Street,  I heard a young girl about 16   screaming wildly into her phone at someone.  Full tilt violent angry screaming.

Girl: "You better listen to me, Bitch!  You listening to me, Bitch!  Bitch, you don't talk to me like that.  I'll come down there and slap your ass around!  You hear me, Bitch!  Bitch, don't you hang up.  You better not hang up, Bitch."

She was screaming like a wild girl  from Union Square straight down to 1st Avenue where I lived.

As I followed her, recording dialogue  any writer would dream to write, she screamed for the entire world to hear:

Girl:  Suck my dick!  You hear me, bitch, suck my...

Right then she paused.  Thought for a second  about what she was saying.  And quickly corrected herself.

Girl:   Suck my son's dick, Bitch!  Bitch, you hearin' me?  Suck my son's dick!

 A thread of sunshine broke through the dark clouds.

I was home.  I'm back home where I belong.

                                        

                        

Part 3 Space Travel

I decided to rent an apartment in Stuyvesant Town.  Stuy Town was a middle class housing development  built for returning veterans and their families.  For decades, the rents  were low and stabilized.  Until a real estate company bought it and thought they could make a mint if they got  rid of the tenants who are paying something like $1,200 for a two bedroom,  and then jack up the rents to the usual "holy shit!"prices of a luxury apartment building. What a brilliant idea: let's turn a new york city housing project  into Trump Plaza!

But my first ten years on this earth were spent in the ny housing projects.  So in an odd, maybe sad, and ironic way, I have come full circle. So I felt quite at home with puke in the hallway on Friday nights, broken elevators, maintenance guys who interned at Riker's Island and look in your closets when they fix the toilets when you're not at home.  When I first went to see the apartment, I met the neighbor right across from me.  First I heard the peep hole on the door open and saw an eyeball going back and forth like a scene out of a Wes Craven movie.   Then the door opened a crack and my neighbor  -who I'm sure has the number of the funeral home and directions to her grave site  tacked on the bulletin board  - peeked out. I found her to be a very delightful woman who truly had a gift for making people feel quite at ease.

Me:   Hi, I'm your next door neighbor.

She stood there without saying a word.

                                          


Me:  Hi.   Moving in next week.  Just separated from my wife.

No response.  I just stood there, me looking at her, she looking at me.

                                    
 Finally, she said something.

Woman:  You're a Jew?

Me:  Well, yeah, I was born Jewish--but not really a practicing Jew.

                                        

Woman:  A lot of Jews lived here.

Me:  Really.  What a coincidence.

Woman:  The real estate company wants me out.

Me:  Who?

Woman:  The real estate company who bought it.  They want me out because I'm paying $600 a month rent.  And they want to raise the rents.  How much is your rent?

Me:  Well, it could be a bit more than you're paying.

Woman:  They want to toss me out of the apartment I lived in for over thirty years!
But I'm not going!  You hear me!  I'm not leaving the apartment I lived in for over thirty years!

Me:  Well, it was really nice talking to you, uh, hope to see you around.  If you need anything, I'm right here.

                                        
She stared at me for a good two minutes.  And then slowly shut the door.  I then heard six door locks being locked one after another.


I opened the door to my new apartment.  It was a nice apartment!  Very spacious.  I have a view of the Empire State Building.   Good size bedroom.  And for a quick second, I was excited to be in the city, and in a new life.  I shouted for joy.  My words echoing in the empty space.

 Me: "Wow, what a space (space, space, space....)

Now I had to fill the space up.  Both the space in my apartment and- to be totally truthful - the space in my heart.

I felt at the moment I was living inside the last ten minutes of Antonioni's L'Elcipse.  A  film about the emptiness of modern day life.