AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Well, sort of.
Apparently, half the internet thinks I'm desperate for a comeback and relevancy at any price. And the other half thinks I'll be recreating old Velvet Guillotine records note-for-note for some asinine reason.
The truth is, it's neither of those things.
I don't give a shit about a comeback. I give a shit about finding my creativity again. And what comes out these days, for the first time in possibly my entire life, is justme.
No chemicals. Nothing bringing me down. Nothing bringing me up. Nothing coloring the way I look at the world.
It’s just me.
And who knows…maybe “just me” sucks. Maybe no one wants “just me”, and the whole appeal before was me plus the thousand other chemicals helping me become a version of me. But all I know is, at this point, I truly don’t give a fuck.
Today, however, I’m breaking routine. I’m skipping the studio because I have someplace else I need to be, and I’ve been putting it off for way too long.
Downstairs in my building’s private garage, I slip the helmet on and throw a leg over my bike. This is my new favorite way to drive through this city. Because—at the risk of sounding like a completely egomaniacal douchebag—you can't really walk down the street when you’reme.
People know me. People stop. People want my fucking autograph. They want a selfie. Whatever it is they want, I can't get a fucking cup of coffee without dealing with that shit.
But on a bike with a helmet on and a tinted visor, I'm anonymous. I'm just one more nobody on a motorcycle dodging taxis and pedestrians. Getting flipped off. Getting cursed at like I’m just some schmuck.
And I love it.
The engine revs as I leave the garage and pull onto 7thavenue. And I make it about a block from my building before I get stuck behind a bus.
Instantly, whatever inner peace, or centered wisdom, or any other meditative bullshit I've managed to wrap around myself in the few hours that I've been awake shatters around me.
Because right there on the back of the bus in front of me is a giant ad for thatfuckingreality show—with Judy, fuckingKurt, and Melody’s faces smiling right at me.
Mocking me. Ripping my chest open and letting me bleed out on the street.
But then, the moment passes. The bus pulls away and makes a turn, and I rev the bike beneath me as I roar off to where I need to go.
To somewhere, and someoneI’ve been putting off seeing for way, way too long.
38
Jackson
The redheadand I stare at each other for the longest fifteen seconds in the world when she opens the door to her Central Park West townhouse.
The seconds tick by. I can't tell if the years have driven us further apart than I've ever thought they would. Or, if standing here in front of Alice Watts for the first time in a decade, it’s as if no time has passed at all.
She blinks. I blink. Slowly, her head shakes side to side, and I watched a single tear trickle from the corner of her eye.
“You fuckingasshole.”
And then suddenly, my best friend’s widow is throwing her arms around me and hugging me like a long lost child. She hugs me tightly—so tightly that my breath chokes even as a smile creeps over my face while I hug her back.
“You fucking asshole,” she chokes against my chest.
“I’m sorry.”
I hold her as she clings to me.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Alice.”
Slowly, sniffing and smiling, she pulls back to look up at me with a grin on her face. She gestures with her head, pulling me into the townhouse.
