Windows.

Where do I even begin.

Sunday night I sat in his bed, wrapped in the comfort of darkness, my face illuminated by my iPad as I tried to pen down my entire weekend. He was outside watching Game of Thrones. His son was asleep in the adjacent room. I had told him I was going to sleep, but really I just needed some time alone, some time to herd my thoughts back towards me because I was already starting to feel like I was grasping at the strings of escaping balloons.

He had brought me here, against his will, because I had delivered an ultimatum unto him one afternoon in early March, premeditating my plan as I was walking to see him, to get him to commit to some form of action behind his words. What did he take me for, a fool?

"Are you ready? For my life? My family? My friends?" 
"That was the plan wasn't it? Are you ready?"

His talents and weaknesses both revolve around people. He watches them at his vision's periphery, and at the right moment, he pounces; less with the predatory grace of a feline but more the flailing clumsiness of a canine - finding a way to connect with them by putting his nose to their warm spots, their humanity, carving a place for himself in their hearts. Sometimes he then controls them by telling them what to do, yet sometimes he submits himself to their control, and then he proceeds to let them ruin his entire day. Perhaps he hasn't found a way to step back and regard his technique in its entirety, harnessing it, controlling it, refining it. It is behind this glass window I stand, observing him with my head tilted, noting to myself what he does so naturally.

And so it was Friday night I found myself in front of his apartment, wondering what being stuck with him for the next three nights would be like. I hadn't even wanted to come, envisioning an utterly shit weekend, but I thought I'd incur a more furious wrath if I chose to not show up.

The weather for the entire weekend had enough rain and cold winds to dampen even the hardiest of tourists. I wandered around Manhattan, after visiting a friend and his family in Brooklyn, a quick lunch in Chelsea Market before walking the length of the High Line in the pouring rain, picturing a sunnier day where those who worked at Gucci and Valentino and galleries would spend their lunch hours lying on deck chairs overlooking the Hudson.

Sunday I spent in an existentialist depression. A general bleakness hung in the air, suffused with gray from what seemed like eternally dusk skies. I was overwhelmed by the fact that he immersed me in so deeply into his life, having heard his conversations with his sister, mother (he dominates the conversations by telling them what he thinks they should do - just like with me), talking to his cousin, meeting his ex-wife, playing with his son. I read the titles of every single book he owned, ate some mashed pumpkin leftovers from his fridge, drank his espresso, found all the red accents he decorated his home with, the lack of photos of his friends (only his son), paintings, drawings, sculptures, his collection of shoes, his selection of sensitive scalp shampoos, his bathroom cabinet (the holy grail of private space!), his wallet while he was in the shower (oops, have I said too much - once, in a drunken haze, I told a stranger that a wallet is the most intimate part of a person - a story to save for next time) his cleaning habits, his weed habit, his sleeping habits, his snoring habits - perhaps this last one can't be called a habit - if only it was consistent! Argh. It was fascinating, yet it took considerable effort to steady the volume of information that was coming my way. In short, after a while, I desperately yearned for the familiar textures of my bed sheets.

Sunday I sat against a wall, defeated, exhaling, surrendering to letting this mist seep slowly through the pores of my skin and into my body, soiling my insides, and he, being the extrovert, fed off of my tainted mood, and together, we lay in his bed, soaking in the futility of it all, sharing that faraway look, standing behind each of our respective windows, gazing at time's effect on ourselves. When I looked at him I felt the desolation one feels when one is racing to the end of life (do you want to win this race?), the broken family environment, pasta for an entire week, consumerism, empty interactions, insubstantial frivolities, materialistic gifts for children who have yet to learn materialism, over investing to compensate for imbalances, the stress to perform when every one of your peers is as hungry as you, hungry for power, hungry for the money that comes with the power, for the money you've traded your health with, only for you to inject this money back into the economy in trying to get your health back, or even worse, a toy-of-the-moment. Maybe we should stop calculating consumer goods in dollars, maybe the new currency should be in tumors.

In New York, one's feet must hurt from being on one's toes all the time. One's voice must be hoarse from trying to shout over the deafening cacophony of everyone else's conversations. One's face must be wrinkled from straining to smile for everyone but oneself.   

Getting up to go to the bathroom after surfing on my iPad whilst waiting for him to finish his homework: "You have a weird way of walking. You see, this is your feet! *gestures with hands* And when you stand, you should be like this, shoulders out."

On flirting with our Italian waitress who turned out not to be a lesbian: "You see, she is gay! Look at how she moves, she is like a man!"
"Wow you must have a great gaydar."
"I know these things."

As she approached again:
"Where is your girlfriend"
"What! I am not gay. But I would like to be with a girl someday..."
To which he then gestures to me. I instinctively let out an eye roll.

While he was on a washroom break, she came to talk to me. Sensing she was more comfortable with me than with his distinctly forward manner, I apologized on behalf of him. "I'm sorry for my friend here - when he has an idea he needs to tell the world. "

"I could have slept with three different people tonight. But I didn't. I don't do this anymore."

"I went out with an African American model last year. She was a model, an ex-model, she was a bit, you know, bigger. On my birthday we all went out, I was talking to this woman and she got incredibly jealous. She had bought these cupcakes for me, and she just started eating them. She ate five in a row! I told her her it was disgusting - her behavior, I mean, come on, five cupcakes? We broke up on my birthday."

"I liked sports, but I was never good at any sport. I did a lot of cycling though."

On his ex-wife:
"She cares a lot who in my life I introduce [my son] to. But she was the one who left me! When she left me I was devastated."
"What happened?"
"I cheated. I was a bad boy."
"Did she find out?"
"She suspected."

"My day is ruined - the friends I was with this afternoon - this woman, the wife of my friend - very beautiful, very gorgeous....she called me a sexist."

"Another woman there, also very beautiful, her husband is very jealous - he thinks we are having an affair but there is nothing between us. When I commented his daughter had beautiful eyes, he said, my daughter or my wife?"

"I lost my friend because of a girl from LA, this bitch. These Asian girls from LA, they are the worst, like Persian girls there. She messaged me, and I asked her out for drinks. She kept hesitating, but I kept trying to get her to meet with me. I wasn't sure if she was with my friend or not. Then she showed my messages to my friend. It's been two years since we spoke."

"My best friend - no, my second best friend is in town right now. I might meet him on Monday. He took his father's two million and turned it into five million."

On the topic of love, I asked:
"Have you ever been in love?"
"I've been in love a few times"
"When you married your ex-wife, were you in love?"
"Yes - I lost the passion and when I found it again, it was too late...I would like to be with a Spanish girl some day. I was with a Spanish girl once, if I told you her age you would kill me."
"Was she legal?"
"Of course she was legal"
"When did you meet her?"
"Two days after my divorce."

"You have fire but you are lost"
"When you were my age, were you lost?"
He ponders for a moment.
"Yes - but I embraced it. You should embrace it!"

"But you are good - you listen"

"You don't know how to relax"

"You have very little emotions"

"When I look into your eyes I see sadness"

"You are someone who is very tough on herself"

Sunday evening, watching him put together a lego plane for his son:
"Why did you buy my plane ticket?"
"Because you needed to see, you needed to see my life - you ask why I don't call, this is why. And perhaps we can be friends."

"I'm attracted to intelligence - this is why I liked you in the first place. I'm also attracted to strong women."

"Ok, ok, one more stereotype before I am done for the day. You guys are the worst drivers in the world."