June 24th 2013 - A duty free impulse overcomes me and I buy a litre of Tanqueray. A double and a full English later and we're off. Thirty minutes over international waters and we're threatened with being arrested for drinking our own alcohol on the sly. A bit of English charm, sleight of hand and some help from our neighbour, we're back on it in no time - putting the altitude theory to test. It worked.
Arrived into a tropical climate New York's not familiar with. We can't stand the heat so a taxi is our only option into the "Bitch". Our Egyptian driver shares his native tongue with J who's trying to charm his way into this guys back pocket. After taking a detour through the suburbs of Staten Island we arrive in Chelsea, with our driver leaving us whilst he parks the car. Thinking we've gotten away without paying the 70 dollar fee, this slimy sphinx appears out of nowhere demanding our money. We grab the keys. The rooms ok, minimal decour, im stuck next to a churning fan for the next four days.
We head out to the Highline and embrace the views of the Hudson river whilst drinking bottles of gin and juice. Whilst pondering on our overly British behaviour so far, J gets sucked into a vortex of Belgium girls (white chocolate). I offer one of them my g&g, they reluctantly declined, which made me happy. J gets a number off some vintage cocoa but know they never going to see each other again. We move out based on the Belgium's suggestion to Don Giovani's, were we end up basking in the sun, drinking Stella and sharing the best pizza of our lives - a Continetial Speciale - made with olives, capers and fishy goodness. Its so wet. The gin is beginning to take over.
After grabbing a bottle of London dry we head back to the room, embrace our mild jet lag and bond over experiences. J comes out. End of. Both of us stuck in a maelstrom of lights, liqour and libidos head out to Meat Packing District, an area devoted to ripping you off for watered down mojitos. J's increased level of intoxication means we cut our night short. J gets down with some locals and I hand over half my wallet to the homeless. We befriend some guys from Harlem - Sugar Ray and Slim Charles - they tell us its the "sour" and we chill on 8av. Two thoroughbred breeds get involved, J is in his element. Harlem boys bounce and J is being dragged by the horses to "safety". Something doesn't smell right, we're getting one-eyed, so we jump out of the situation and head home, swaying across the road in a whirlpool of gin and tomato juice. Wasted.
25th June 2013 - Lunch time, we're out of bed and straight into the closest classic American diner. French toast and bacon beats Js Royale Jumbo Cheeseburger with its overdose of maple syrup. These Mexicans know service. Walking up Broadway Av into time square, we lap up the advertisements and hustlers, lost in a world of attraction.
The congestion pushes us to Central Park where we catch a soft ball game and a gardner hosing down men. Coach is telling them to "dig deep", advice we later took in consideration for our wallets. Moving onto the zoo we're flying amongst some tropical birds and repulsive reptiles. Amazing. The heat is giving us a glistening film and making the snow monkeys depressed. Snow leopards and polar bears are absent for the same reason. Disappointed.
Zooed out, and with our legs in agony we make it to Dallas BBQ, a restaurant the confederates wouldn't be proud of. We witness a brotha drinking a Texas Royale Magnum, an alcoholic blue concoction topped with champagne at a magnum price . We share a catfish, crab fish cake and chillie prawn platter. Incredible.
Boozed up we head into Bedford Av, Brooklyn, into the Old Dog - a classic American bar with local beers and heart-wrenching tunes. In search of some live music and with the help of the locals, we head to Skinny Dennis, where we catch the end of a Texas country band slapping some foot-tapping beats. J falls in love with the lead's moustache and they discuss guitars whilst I appreciate the beer. There are too many crushed nuts on the floor so we go back to The Old Dog. Here we hang with the locals, comparing accents and use of slang. We introduced them to the term billis. At this point we were also scrutinised for our intention of going to Big G's funeral on Thursday. Something we later come to realise was wrong. God Bless.
Inside we sample a variety of local bevvies whilst playing an indoor version of boules with deaf chicks. It's an enlightening situation when communicating through a game neither party is familiar with, which we both appreciate. J is overly generous with his shots forcing us to deal a losing hand. I had a natural knack for it, like most things. Marksman. We drink more. Jukebox J.
Amidst the tunes and bar conflict, Jared a non hisidic Jew boasting a career in street art, along with his exaggerated homosexual Puerto Rican friend, Wilson, invite us back to Skinny Dennis for a tipple. Few more. Wilson can't stop expressing his homosexuality even when we're off topic. Everyone finds it hard to make a living in Brooklyn. Grow up. We need cheese steaks to overcome his boxing bullshit, so we end up in local Arabic convenience store sucking on some moist sandwiches. A racial argument breaks out and we share our English perspectives which dont go down well. Wilson represented the New York gay culture by saying absolutely nothing. He already released it a few days earlier during the pride festival. These boys are keeping it real to "The Notorious", we dont give a fuck. Back at Jared's apartment we get lean and meet the ultimate crossbreed "Hennessy", half PitBull / Labrador, whilst admiring his art and denying Wilson passage to my delicious sub. Jared doesn't know how lucky he is. J is contemplating chucking up his Philly. We leave once we realise we can't hold a conversation together. We slug past the angry Arabic man paying him zero respect for his rash Jewish statements. During our taxi ride home, I wake up J to the most beautiful view of the downtown skyline, caught during an indigo mist within the sunrise.
26th June 2013 - We're out by 4pm, something we desired after such vast consumption. Can't tell if its air moisture or sweat on my face. We grab a small bite. We walk downtown on 6 Ave, in awe of the architectural variety. The financial district dominates our view. The idea of our tortured bodies looms over us.
In Greenwich Village, J's tummy is rumbling so we stop off at cheap pizza outlet - Famous Joes, which turns out to be a celebrity hotspot for these cheesey, tomato slabs. Leo Dicraprio has been chucking it back for years. I'm envious at this point but am too stubborn to change my mind and last nights philly isn't sitting well. Eventually making it to Wall Street, we can see all the dirty money, underage and narcotic empires that dwell within its streets. J claims he'll have it all one day. He's not getting fucking yacht called "Copious Coinpurse". Ambitious prick.
Tired, hungover and glowing with sweat we take the Staten Island ferry for a free view of the skyline. No photo can do this "Bitch" justice, the thing looks like its made from Lego. We bask. We decide to get off and hunt for food. Joe's steaks was closed for health reason. Shame. We came across Steiny's, a local joint with a buzzing atmosphere inside. This place was polarized to anything in Manhattan with unwanted tips, cheap beers, genuine accommodation and free food in celebration of Bash, the main bar tenders 70th birthday. A clear local hero who's knocking back shots like no other, putting my dad to shame. Home made chips and spicy off the bone chicken, along with grand company make this a winner. I shield my Mets t-shirt. Go Yankees.
We return home, grab some iced-coffees and hit the sack, in preparation for feeling fresh and tapping Big G's. God Bless.
27th June 2013 - Last day. Early morning, we grab our first complimentary breakfast - coffee, bagels and limited spreads. Grabbing the subway to 110th Upper West Side put us in prime location for the mobster do. Dank area, on edge. Upon approach to the church we witness little, and as we get closer, I just want to be further away. We call it off and reflect on our "English" way of paying respect. It was narrow minded but we laugh. JG, Legend.
At the opposite end of central park we begin walking back into the "Bitch". At the resevoir we encounter some of the nicest views of the skyline - vegetation and water contrasted with epic buildings. A turtle has escaped on a one-man freedom mission. Good luck, dumbass. I take J to strawberry fields where it turns out plenty of shot bods like to congregate. On the memorial Asian people were lying down and get their photos snapped, with musicians playing half beat versions of their songs for another line of skag. All I could imagine was John Lennon turning in his grave at the thought of it, begging another deranged cia operative/tramp to shoot him in the face to end it once and for all. Never RIP you poor bastard.
We head out whilst talking about conspiracy theories. The man behind the curtain is fucking with you. Walking past all the horse and carriages I for once feel sorry for them. Then I take one look at their schnouts and and big beady eyes and I remember why I'm so repulsed. We take a trip up Rockefeller, enjoy the high views and take some panoramics with tight arse cheeks. On our way out we're confronted by Micki - "Like the mouse" (fuck off) - who sells us a night at a comedy cellar, who boasted some quality names. We were game.
We make a horrific excursion to 8th Av which J passionately loathes. Neons and rat droppings, that's what this place is made of (not dreams). We escape into a 7eleven, buy a "Big Bite", a thumb sized hotdog and a "Shaq Soda" - don't bother. We grab our tickets for the Greyhound to Boston and make our way back home. Painfully.
In the Chelsea food "mart" we grab some no shit 40oz beers and some monster Cheetos. Magnum products. We head up into the Upper West Side to the comedy club. In queue we witness the airhead Americans make painful jokes about the rain, "not". 2 drink / 20 dollar drink minimum, now we know why the tickets are cheap. Kicks off with some SNL writer making cultural stabs. He begins poorly but get better. The best act was up next, performed on countless shows. Dont know his name. We laugh. The rest get mixed responses but the evening was great on the whole. Best way to end the stint. We go home and chill in preparation for Boston. Watch out, im coming.
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