“Tell me if you have fun in that bar?” Kat.
“Blurry Red Light,” Me.
I was in Chelsea and weirdly every time when I am here, I think about president Clinton’s daughter.
I think about what that sort of life is.
Because you are the president’s daughter, you are obligated to meet certain standard.
All my dads seem seriously allow me to explore every possibility of life.
I just feel if I didn’t hang with normal people in Mumbai, the capital of India, I would not feel Chelsea is fancy. Hell’s Kitchen? No, since someone told me it was an area for prostitution.
I feel the gallery of Chelsea is real, unlike the ones in SoHo, you know why each piece is that price.
“Son I have a gift for you,” Mommy.
“…”Me.
“Remember the bar you visited in 2015 and felt no one talking to you? It’s mine now,” Mommy.
Definitely you cannot say something like that”it is still boring” when your level is not met.
Mom told me she believes in Islam and does prayer but I always wonder since I believe Jewish is bound with Judaism by birth.
I saw my brother today and he got a tan.
“Dude, maybe they did that too,” Me.
After Darrel moved to Venice to escape the arrest from the U.S. government, he called me one day.
“Babe I miss you a lot,” Darrel.
“I went to the bar and there are more people there. Maybe what you said to mom was real. At least if I buy four drinks per night, and there are one hundred people in the room, at least one will believe you,” Me.
“I saw my ex there flirting with my uncle,” Me
“He grew his hair so he believes that I don’t recognize him,” Me.
“I went to McDonald today and had a family meal with my mom,” Darrel.
“Meet me in Miami so I can come back,” Darrel.
“Why not come to NYC yourself!” Me.
“I am scared since only you are with me I feel safe,” Darrel.
“Ok, let me check. On Expedia it is only $250 to fly there. I need $500 to cover my expense plus you need to give me a luxury meal at the resort when we randomly ordering stuff,” Me.
“Deal,” Darrel.
Five days later.
“Who is that guy?” Darrel.
“Idk,” Me,”maybe the fun about gay bar is your mate pretending resisting stuff and the others feel stupid while doing it.”
“Tell me about your life,” Mom.
“Uhhhh, there are many immigrants here,” Me.
“You are an immigrant,” Mom.
“Aha nah, I have my birth certificate,” Me.
“So show me,” Mom.
I showed my mom the teared paper with inks on it. If it was given to her in 1990, now it looks 1975.
“Shut up Boshi!”
“Ok~”