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August 30, 2012 at 4:04 pm
As a landscape architect, Vic usually dresses business casual at his small firm to meet with high end clients on the Upper East Side. His clientele prefer their penthouse rooftop designs to have clean and classic lines, but slightly stuffy, formal feels. He likes his job, but feels that the designs, like how he must dress, do not really reflect his personal style; stuffy and formal.
After work Vic can’t wait to throw on his ‘play clothes’, even if he is still technically working while wearing them! After the office, Vic skates downtown to a meeting at the East Village Co-op he belongs to, he can’t wait to show the design he and a well known graffiti artist have collaborated on to redo the store front and help improve business. This casual, yet totally fresh and put together way of dress really reflects his true design vision.
August 30, 2012 at 4:08 pm
On his way to design school in the morning, best way to beat rush hour traffic.
August 30, 2012 at 4:22 pm
Here goes my story….. :)
“Being a continuing ed student is no fun, you go to work and then to classes at NYU by night. I really didn’t like the idea of blending in with the suits in my MBA class at Stern, so I just went in my work clothes.
The smell of fresh halal as I skate down 5th is invigorating, and really p’s people off when I walk in.
Did I mention I’m an ad exec uptown at Ogilvy by day and have to take the crosstown bus? Thankfully my skateboard is light and goes hand in hand with my man-folio.
- Chris “chiz”
NYU Stern MBA ’14″
August 30, 2012 at 4:54 pm
I find solitude on a piece of plywood and four wheels. A person would think that pushing pavement is a harder than pushing the gas pedal, but like most things, the more you do, the easier the day. Relaxed, awake, and present, I glide a few feet farther, quietly avoiding the confusion of public transportation and the frustration of road rage. No need for head phones or other anesthetizing trinkets here. Hear. Here.
September 1, 2012 at 4:42 am
i smell a winner
September 4, 2012 at 2:53 am
Agreed! I love this story, it perfectly captures what skating is about and isn’t trying to be too impressive with multiple fashion references!
August 30, 2012 at 5:21 pm
And another little poem….
Transported in grey
Grounded in rolling motion
See the world ahead
August 30, 2012 at 5:24 pm
He loves the feel of the skateboard on newly paved asphalt. Smooth and seamless. He loves the feel of the wind ruffling through his t-shirt on a hot summer day in New York City. The sounds, smells and sights of the city in the height of commotion fade into the distance as he concentrates on pushing, pushing, and coast. Skateboarding is his meditation. It brings his awareness back to his body and to the present moment. As he skates, he leaves behind his recent argument with his girlfriend, the final assignment due this Friday in his literature class, the rude customers today at his job in the skate shop. His burdens and stresses melt away leaving him and the board and the asphalt. Simple pleasures for a simple man.
August 30, 2012 at 5:34 pm
Since english is not my first language, I’d rather not write a story but I wish all the commentators good luck !
By the way, I like the photo and were I young, I would probably skate everywhere !
August 30, 2012 at 5:42 pm
hmm. I’m stuck for ideas!
I love the photo though!
August 30, 2012 at 6:09 pm
“Ok guys that’s it for today.” “Finally class is over. What shall I do now? Alright the girl says dinner at 8 at her place, my buddies wanna skate. Its only 5, I got time to kill
Grabs his stuff and heads out the door with deck in hand. A couple of quick steps and off he goes on his skateboard. “Shall I head back home or should I head to the skatepark for a bit? “There’s just so much to do in so little time, I need to chill out.” Seems like he need to blow off some steam and makes his way to the skatepark none the less.
August 30, 2012 at 6:22 pm
Hey what tha fuck kid!
It was a stagnant afternoon with telltale signs of a hazy August night. Motion-induced breeze dried off the sweat beading on Sam’s forehead as he cruised in-between a daze of bumblebee yellow.
Shit I wish this was just a backpack. He thought as he thumbed the monogrammed initials on the supple leather pouch cradled in his hand.
The maroon pouch lay on the desk, etched on it was EXB in gold and all caps. All Sam knew was that the E stood for Emile; shiny, smooth, dark-haired and olive-eyed Emile. He had overheard (like he always did) Emile talking about a party at Stella’s place in Greenpoint. Stella’s parents set up scenery for perfume ads in department store catalogues and had gone upstate for the weekend to work. Sam usually would have just grabbed an apple and a slice of sausage pizza, and gone down a few blocks to his tiny dorm room to go through his Netflix queue. He would have been finishing My Own Private Idaho.
Coming behind some kids whose clothes he recognized, he caught a stench that could be likened to burnt rubber; there also, stood Emile. Like the lake— Emile’s eyes, liquid were Sam’s knees.
August 30, 2012 at 7:07 pm
Sliding through the streets, making his getaway he finally breathed that long awaited breath of relief. Painful as it was to leave, the pain was becoming more and more familiar with each exit. “It’s not her fault” he thought, “it’s me; there’s something wrong with me.” As he breezed past taxis, pedestrians, bicyclists and the like he knew he couldn’t continue to live like this. Sooner or later his self-absorption would consume him whole, but at least he knew that for now he was free and this moment is all that matters. The wind in his face and the deafening buzz of the city was his comfort, his solace. And so he kicked, pushed; he did what he knew how to do best… he left.
August 30, 2012 at 7:14 pm
This is a true story, this is not fiction.
My name is Peter. I’m heading downtown to a party that my friends in the Lower East Side are putting on tonight. It’s a big night for all of us, so I am in my ‘party’ look- which happens to be the same as my ‘work’ look, and my ‘casual’ look. And in the best case scenario for an evening out in the city, it also works for ‘my walk of shame’ look…As a matter of fact, last night wasn’t so bad either. :) And I’m out…you will be seeing me around again.
August 30, 2012 at 7:29 pm
Eddie had 10 minutes to get across town from University Place. Skateboarding was his specialty, and traveling by board normally would not be a problem. Unfortunately, the blue watch his sister Erica had gifted him the night before had stopped ticking, and he was unsure of the time. Erica was always buying knock-offs (she could not resist a bargain) and this watch was no different. Luckily, the authentic leather oxblood carryall she had given him for Christmas the year before was sturdy as ever. For some reason, Erica had taken a chance on paying full price.
Good thing, too, he thought to himself. Mr. Abshire had entrusted Eddie with a few well-wrapped boxes, and the last thing Eddie needed was for the boxes to fall out of the carryall. Mr. Abshire had given Eddie 10 minutes to get to the private investigator’s office. Eddie was unsure of what would happen if he did not make it in time, but he knew all about the trouble Erica had gotten into over the summer. Mr. Abshire knew about it too, and Eddie was afraid of what might happen to Erica if he let Mr. Abshire down…
August 31, 2012 at 1:16 pm
This is very film noir-ish. Love it !
Good luck !
August 30, 2012 at 7:59 pm
I am the most typical person in the world.
There are 9,000,000 28 year old Han Chinese guys in the world and I’m the only one shredding down 14th Street this beautiful September 11th kind of morning because my mother said that she’s tired of working all day long in the heat and steam of Chinatown just so I can go to the gym all day and “have picture taken by gwai lo” and she wants to see her only son once and a while.
I am the most typical person in the world, because despite the beauty of the day, my new kicks, and my cool watch, I’m rushing downtown to sit in my mother’s kitchen and eat chicken soup.
August 31, 2012 at 1:01 pm
Oh sanmiguelense, yours is my favorite–and most believable. What’s he carrying in that bag though to his mom’s? A chapbook of his first published novel perhaps?
August 31, 2012 at 4:12 pm
He is carrying his mother’s high blood pressure medication–which she refuses to take because it is from the “gwai lo” doctor!
August 31, 2012 at 6:06 pm
Love it! ( been saving that comment for the longest…)
August 31, 2012 at 8:14 pm
September 1, 2012 at 4:31 pm
love this! so cool!!
August 30, 2012 at 8:21 pm
Wednesday Morning I stand and patiently am waiting
Staring up aimlessly, simply contemplating…
“I need change with this new city, I need something else new
Something exciting and fresh, but mostly, something true”
Then I stop thinking, look down, and see what I need
He sees me too, gasp, it gets harder to breath
What do I see when my wide eyes look ahead?
One of what will be many… my first New York boyfriend
August 30, 2012 at 8:52 pm
Weaving through the rumbling buses, Daniel rushed home from the interview. Envisioning his grandfather’s lined face, rugged and sun-stained with age and work, he imagined his eyes flashing at the news. His hand would reach out – lips stretching into a smile.
“You came to these same streets from so far. You might have walked this very avenue – touched this same light post,” Daniel reflected, rolling through the changing light.
Getting closer, he passed the market where he had worked as a child, sweeping floors for his father. His grandfather, shadowed in the corner, watched Daniel draw faces in the dust. “Don’t let our boy be a grocer, my son.” Pointing a callused finger at Daniel’s design on the floor, he said, “This boy is a creator.”
His father huffed and slammed shut the cash register drawer. A bus rumbled by, brakes squelching in the numbing disconnect. Suddenly, the fall air pushed open the door and wisped through the store, waving Daniel’s hair and stirring Grandfather’s beard. They shared a secret smile.
Jolted by a horn, Daniel caught himself smiling at memory. Clutching his portfolio, he pushed off against the pavement, cutting through traffic like a fall breeze.
August 30, 2012 at 9:05 pm
Dhan, who is usually reserved, delivered a jaw-dropping dissertation to the Dept. of Physics at NYU, said his piece, walked outside under an August sun and threw his board beneath him, heading downtown. He was a vision of serene confidence. “I’m going to ask Caroline to meet my parents,” he thought, and took the next left, toward the bodega that sells fresh flowers.
September 6, 2012 at 9:22 pm
Love this one! Short, wry and snappy.
August 30, 2012 at 9:13 pm
“Love you Ana,” He calls as the door closes behind him.
I’m still in bed, cocooned in a mess of sheets. I hear his youthful heavy steps descending down our third floor apartment. I couldn’t help but giggle to myself like a little school girl this morning, watching him dress for work, peaking out from under my pillow. He must have known i was awake and watching, because he put on my favorite shirt of his, and the hat I bought him when I was last visiting LA. I swear, sometimes its hard to let him go, even if its only for the day.
I jump up from bed, in a dress of sheets and run to our bedroom window as i hear the sound of our heavy apartment building door close and his skateboard wheels hitting the concrete.
There is my man, my truest love, the sweetest most fragile thing to me in this life.
I open the window and stick my head out as far as it can reach.
“I love you too Johnny!” I shout down to him. He looks up and smiles, he blows me a kiss.
And this is how my day begins.
August 30, 2012 at 11:07 pm
What if I had stayed on Father’s farm instead of moving to the city?
What if I had kept the car and forgotten about paying for school?
What if Mother knew about my boyfriend and the watch he gave me?
What if Sis had survived and could know that each of my magazine designs is fashioned in her honor?
What if my family back home knew I thought about them every day, even if I didn’t call?
What if they knew it hurt too much?
What if I could justify to everyone why I chose this life?
What if I did not have to?
If everything looks so ordinary so much of the time, how do we come to know each other? I consider pulling out my iPod, but decide I will not shut the world out. There are answers. I keep going, and wonder if I will ever get there.
September 2, 2012 at 7:33 am
August 30, 2012 at 11:22 pm
“It’s nice to breathe, finally”, Thought the watch. “I’ve spent so much time tucked in the farthest right corner of his top desk drawer; it’s too dark there.” The watch was glad to be out in the air of the city, even if it was city air. It was glad to be blue.This feature of the watch enhanced it’s feeling of rejuvenation. Through blueness it felt a camaraderie with the sharp blue sky refracted and reflected off the buildings surrounding. The artificial seeking harmony with the natural. The watch felt-at this very moment-it was fulfilling its purpose: be worn in harmony.
August 30, 2012 at 11:39 pm
You know those times when you want to be anywhere but here?
Anywhere besides this bustling city, this hectic lifestyle where stopping to tie your shoe seems too time consuming?
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the city. It offers so many opportunities, and has so many things to do.
But I’m starting to think maybe I don’t want to live here forever. Skating through, swerving past, and avoiding the thick crowds on a daily basis . . . a person gets tired.
I’ve skated these streets for two years. Came to study, get a good education, make the folks proud.
I’m happy I came here. This place is super diverse, and full of different cultures to explore.
By exploring the city, I explored myself.
But I’m ready to move on now. I’m ready to be free.
August 31, 2012 at 2:09 am
August 30, 2012 at 11:55 pm
who are you kidding? this guy has left the office early and is headed to 67th.
August 31, 2012 at 1:18 am
I mean no breaks.
No wind. No breeze.
Just the stuff that sails underneath my feet.
Can’t look at my watch, can’t focus.
Scores of 92 and 83 might be the end for me.
Sad looks on her faces.
The look of disappointments on his face,
multiple shots of agony create their face. Faces—
The sun when it rises,
left the old country but hours ago,
and hours and hours pass before yesterday beats tomorrow
(yesterday always wins)
because yesterday is always first.
Tomorrow never wins
if not for me, then for someone else.
No errands, no flicks, no beach,
There’s only one route in the city,
Google sonar me from a 747 while I MapQuest in real time.
I fly with divine permission,
finely tuned precision—
(Oh . . . hi, Mr. Photographer. I’m sorry, but you caught me at a bad time.)
People in New York jump out of nowhere like lions from the bushes,
No time. I mean no-time,
Summer-fall, school and all.
There’s only one route in the city.
These strangers don’t know me.
August 31, 2012 at 1:58 am
where is this photo taken please?
August 31, 2012 at 2:01 am
This morning he thought,” Another day, another way. The city is just too beautiful today to stay cramped up in the subway.” While drinking his coffee, he stared out the window from his studio on the 4th floor. Looking out the window he sees the streets filled with people, buses, and bright yellow taxis that formed lines and turned corners as if he were watching a real game of “Snake.” He knew hauling a cab wouldn’t be ideal, so he quickly took another sip of coffee, put it down, and began to gather his things so he could head out the door. He hoped he would still have enough time to walk to school. With his bag in hand, he begins to walk towards his door, but the seconds in which he reaches the door knob, he notices his skateboard standing on its tail, leaning against the little wall space between his door and bookshelf. The second he looks at it, he smirks and picks it up. Within the next two minutes, he was on the streets of Manhattan, heading towards school, with his bags in hand, thinking, “Today was going to be a good day”
August 31, 2012 at 2:15 am
It’s a cold and chilly morning, but however the case, peter still has to get up… he hurries as he looks at his watch to notice he woke up a little bit late. ‘I have to hurry.’ That’s the song in his mind… finally on the streets hurrying to carry out his daily chores… “oops! I forgot my cardigan.” Even with all this cold, he still never has to turn back.
August 31, 2012 at 2:17 am
i roll up my pants to try to look like dylan rieder
i wish i could impossible the seaport bench like dylan rieder
im going to apply at the The Hunt in the lower east side because i love dark antiques like dylan rieder
i see a lot of models on the streets but i dont date one like dylan rieder
i love newyork like everyone in newyork loves derek jeter
gotta go to yakitori taisho and drink a pitcher of sappero with a puerto rican hoe that i met at a diplo show so im going to meet her
i chill with jason dill down at supreme
maurice key and javier nunez are a menace like kareem
did mark mark gonzales’ video days part make anyone else commit suicide or just justin pierce
i look exactly like jeffery pang from zooyork in the 90′s before they got bought out by tripple 5 soul
chew cannon bangin at ground zero is my hero asap rocky is tryin to jock me
but i aint a hatr man haider ackermann
i aint gonna slide by the little owl for a slider
August 31, 2012 at 3:41 pm
If I don’t win, I vote for this guy!
September 1, 2012 at 1:49 pm
This is to funny.
September 1, 2012 at 8:17 pm
this is my favorite
August 31, 2012 at 2:26 am
Screw ‘em. Why?
Check the square jaw. Check the virtually aquiline nose which should be impossible on this Asian son of Apollo. And [oh snap] check the flawless break on these pants.
But dammit, I had nailed that audition! Nailed it the way Supreme nailed those limited edition canvas Dunks back in ’97. Nailed it the way Junya Watanabe nails it every every every time so that I want the Watanabe.
Yet dinged again. This time by a casting director named Tess from L.A.. Tess, the little hot mess, that did look pretty fine albeit with too much YSL head to toe. Just a little too perfect the way chicas in L.A. do that make looking cool a little sad. Tess, who couldn’t apprehend talent if it got off a crosstown bus. And whose daddy probably got her the j.o.b.
There I was. I thought this was going to be The Little Break That Was Going To Make Shit Happen. To become the new Brando meets Pharell meets Andy Lau. To style. And to find next month’s rent.
Whatevers. Screw ‘em. I gots to get back uptown. And I said CHECK the flawless break on these pants.
August 31, 2012 at 10:55 am
I 1iked this!
Maria (from Cambridge)
August 31, 2012 at 3:38 pm
This One, yes,
September 1, 2012 at 6:30 pm
Yup, this one.
September 2, 2012 at 11:20 am
without question….. this one!
August 31, 2012 at 2:27 am
His cell phone beeps. Text message.
“Package needs pick-up and delivery. 8′oclock. Usual customers.”
He grabs the first items of clothing he sees on the floor of his 4th floor walk-up: gray t-shirt, jeans, baseball cap, sneakers. Quick drink of water from the kitchen faucet and he’s ready for the day. Ever since that mail truck ran over his bicycle last week, all his courier work has had to be conducted on 4 small wheels, so he grabs his skateboard and he heads out the door.
Destined for University Pl, he cruises towards the pick-up location – a small law firm nestled between Broadway and E 21st St. He quickly pops inside, greets Carol – the office secretary – grabs the portfolio waiting for him on Carol’s desk, and bolts out the door.
7:47AM. He’s making great time. He coasts a few more blocks and he has arrived at the final destination with 4 minutes to spare. He hands the parcel over. Dr. Allston signs for it. And he is out the door, yet again.
August 31, 2012 at 4:36 am
Action packed peripheries ensconce me… en route… A familiar stillness settles in.. Free razor’s edge… sweat prefixed above my brow. Essentials in tact… It’s still a beautiful morning.
August 31, 2012 at 6:22 am
this will work out, it’s a left at the next corner. breathe deeply, remember: why this neighborhood, this community? ferocity of competition only let’s you shine, man, maintain confidence. this will work out. 1226, left or right? left. that’s it. breathe deeply, it’s time.
August 31, 2012 at 6:33 am
The traffic lights turned green. I could hear the bus behind me rumbling to a start as the driver struggled to find second gear. As I kicked off again, I looked up into the pocket of blue sky between the high rises; allowing the sun to warm my face. The marbled sky was like any other summer’s eve. However the horizon foretold a change in the weather. A thick, grey mountain of cloud was on its way – a summer storm was coming.
Eventually the bus passed; its exhaust settling on my skin like a warm, dirty breath bringing me back to the street. I checked my watch; I was going to be late. Claire wouldn’t be happy. I could imagine her waiting: arms crossed and a face like the thunder that was on the horizon. But in my defence, I thought, I never was on time. That’s why she’d bought me the watch.
August 31, 2012 at 8:26 am
wtf am i doing on this skateboard?! i dont even know the slightest how to skate anymore. wonder why the boss was so specific about the transportation- the norwegians are so weird.. wonder if everyone skate around the streets of norway lol… no they cant, isnt norway on the north pole or something?! damn this leather pouch is heavy, wonder what is inside it. shit, what if it is a bomb or something! a norwegian salmon bomb…university place would look epic covered in salmon. come on, focus on the skateboarding now. the situation would be complete if i tripped and slammed in the pavement in front of that hot girl over there. so good to see a chick without those butt ugly jeffrey campbell blogger shoes btw.. i wonder how much this kind of deliveryjob would pay off if youre in the biz? jeez, my obsession with justin bieber will be the end of me! the concert better be as awesome as i know it will be…
August 31, 2012 at 8:45 am
There seems to be a time when we look within ourselves and wonder “how did we get here.” It’s tangible, as if we can sit down with the uncertainty and regret and have a real dialogue. A lot of us try to be an individual and stoke our own flame, but that aggregate action can in itself lead us into the collective. For if we are an island of individuals, then we are an island amongst ourselves.
It’s easy to get lost in the solitary actions of life. And honestly, we need the reflection. Thoughts and rumination wash out the sound of the city and auto-pilot allows us to look within ourselves.
I’m in constant motion, not to stand out, but to be myself. I can’t help but realize that I’m going with the flow. I see now that everyone else is as well.
August 31, 2012 at 9:59 am
Rising above the buses and cars behind me, gold and silver all over my body in the posture of an ancient greek athlete or of the leader of a revolution guiding the tanks of the roaring city, my splendid youth bathed in sunlight. The photographer turns me into an icone, for a second, or for eternity. Meanwhile the real me keeps rolling in the streets of the anonymous.
August 31, 2012 at 1:35 pm
Very powerful !
September 2, 2012 at 12:05 am
This one nails it. Concise. Believable. No back story needed- it’s all there in the flash of the present.
September 7, 2012 at 8:17 am
Many thanks to you two !
August 31, 2012 at 10:47 am
She had given him the blue watch a month ago. He found it atop a crisp sheaf of paper that was her farewell note. She had abandoned him because he had abandoned China.
He had been one of the valiant students at Tiananmen Square. He had spit in the face of the totalitarian dragon that had swallowed the spirit of Cathay.
Abandon again, she had beseeched him. Forsake the medical study that was is your father’s dream. Eschew your mother’s blatant avarice.
Blue is the color of freedom, she had said. I am nothing. Forget me. You are a freedom fighter. Go back to China. Fight. This watch will remind you that tyranny never rests. Wear it proudly but rejoin the fight soon. Your people need you.
In America, you will just amuse your golf buddies with tales of abandoned barricades and dragons not slain.
August 31, 2012 at 11:39 am
It was one of those magical mornings in late August. Dappled sunlight draped the world in a surreal glaze so sweet that it left a tangible tingle in my throat. I felt light to the point that the thought of walking on water seemed old hat. Then I saw him. Well, I saw the hat first. Actually, it was a baseball cap worn backwards with the bill in back shading his neck. Maybe he was afraid of getting a red neck. Anyway, up until then, that particular perversion of misguided apparel adornment irked me with the exception of baseball catchers who had to wear them that way to accommodate the face cage.
My eyes left the cap and immediately scanned down to a perfect ensemble of simple casual wear animated by a flawless example of the male species rolling across University Place on a skateboard. A pristine grey t-shirt paired with black chinos and black suede Supra Skytops animated by Adonis, also wore a long chain around his neck, interesting bracelet on his right wrist, and bright blue over sized watch on his left. He was a perfect vision on a perfect day and I immediately turned my Braves baseball cap backwards.
August 31, 2012 at 12:19 pm
Dammit, I left my Superman cape…AGAIN.
August 31, 2012 at 12:33 pm
It was like any other day. The wheels crunched against the asphalt as he glided down the street and the morning sun was just beginning to warm the air. The whoosh of passing cars, the squeak of brakes and puffs of exhaust and the faint echo of words as people became distant on the sidewalk. It was all familiar, they were streets he’d taken day after day. He thought of the new design he had dreamed of the night before, about how hard he’d been working to make it through school, to realize a dream of becoming an artist. He suddenly slowed as a swish of movement made him stare. Her hair cascaded down one shoulder as she stopped to lift her foot and reach back and fix the stubborn strap that kept falling down her ankle. A breeze caught her blue skirt and rippled just for a second as she lowered her foot and adjusted her bag full of art books. She glanced over and as her eyes met his, she smiled at him. Everything was still and he knew in that moment that his life would never be the same.
August 31, 2012 at 1:10 pm
He was two blocks from NYU when he realized he had forgotten The Paper. “Dumb ass”, he cursed himself between clenched teeth.
All he really had to do was get this paper in on time to pass the Econ class, the last tough class he would have to take before graduating, and he managed to fuck it up.
He could hear his father’s voice in his head: ” What is wrong with you? You manage to mess up the simplest thing.” It was a mantra, this indictment, and he had heard his father say it to him a thousand times in the last 19 years.
Well, maybe he was right, he thought to himself: maybe I am just a fuck up…
He jumped off his skateboard and unzipped the leather Coach portfolio, a gift from his mother on his last birthday. It was like butter, soft and reassuring somehow. He looked inside, hoping against hope that by some act of divine intervention The Paper would be inside.
Just a few loose papers and a black composition book.
Ok, he thought to himself: what now?
August 31, 2012 at 1:41 pm
I just abandonned my book to read all these stories and they are fascinating. Creativity is pouring and I thank all of you for making my day. Good luck !
August 31, 2012 at 2:57 pm
Trying to make it before the 5pm deadline, Paul rolls through rush hour traffic in hopes to submitting his designs for a skateboard apparel company.
His mind is racing but he makes it to the meeting. A little nervous, but Paul is at ease. “Its all or nothing”, he says.
He gives his presentation. There were a few hiccups when explaining his designs, but Paul perseveres. This is his passion…his life.
Paul has been skateboarding for as long as he can remember. His passion is skateboarding and fashion and the idea of combining the two is his dream.
During the interview, his supervisor and the company’s client are expressionless but Paul somehow keeps their attention. After the meeting, Paul is unsure of his fate but is satisfied because he feels great about his presentation. He gave it his all.
His supervisor and the company’s client approach Paul about his presentation and were concerned about a couple of his designs but awarded him the job because he had passion and all the other candidates didn’t have that.
“If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.”
August 31, 2012 at 3:21 pm
I used to be on 14st on sunny days.
I used to live there.
I used to work there, drink coffee there, wait for the weekends, party, eat out, drink hangover drinks after the night, meet awesome random people.
Ny used to be mine but I’m away and I miss it crazy.
I’ll give up my ticket to the opening party for ya ’cause I can see you in this cyber world, connect with you and feel you. I have a NY free spirit. The king of fashion world. As soon as I saw this picture, Something was kind of exploded inside of me just like I encountered my ex on the street after I thought I got over. Thx to the guy with a big camera in the street and congratulations.
August 31, 2012 at 3:31 pm
I hope I make it.
Lanvin did it. Dolce did it. Real people in fashion. There’s a breath of change. This is my chance to live my dream. My dream to be a model. I just want this one. This is the only casting call I got from my agent and it is for an ad for Coach’s new men line debuting next week at NY fashion week. I studied photography and it is my job but not my dream. I want to be in front of the lens. This is my chance to live my dream. I’m tired. I’m hungry. I need this. I have been inspired by The Sartorialist. From any street style angle he takes it seems that many can be beautiful models. I need to make it to this casting call.
I hope I make it.
August 31, 2012 at 5:58 pm
The Sartorialist always gets me surprise
never knowing what treats
await my unsuspecting eyes.
Sometimes an image evokes a painting
other times it provokes heated debating.
The “stunning”, “love it” comments
are pages long.
But I dig the captured moments
inspiring fond memories of a song.
J. Freeman Garner
August 31, 2012 at 6:59 pm
“It’s nice up here but let me tell ya, nothin’ can make you feel as lonely as an in-law family vacation with your dinner on the ground. You didn’t have to stop. Thanks.”
With this, she winked at the boy, an old black-and-white movie wink, and pulled the rabbit’s foot from around her neck and gave it to him. The boy looked at it, nodded awkwardly and thanked her, hopping back on his skateboard in one swift motion. He was listening to the blues in his headphones. A friend at school mentioned Howlin’ Wolf, and only one hour earlier he had downloaded a few songs and was making his way home when he spotted her on University, fumbling a snapped grocery sack like a lineman trying to intercept a football–the cans and boxes scattering and rolling about the unresponsive feet of the city. The song in his ears was “How Many More Years” and immediately he steered toward the woman, stopped, and was bending over picking up a dented can before he’d even thought about what he was doing. They parted quickly. Perhaps someone saw. “How many years, he thought, it’s taken me.”
August 31, 2012 at 8:19 pm
We left the shop and my grandfather paused for a moment, pulling a fresh cigarette out of the carton. “The people here” he said, flicking the lighter and taking a long deep drag “the people here look a certain kind of way”.
I let my silence form the question.
“The ones by themselves do, anyhow. Like they’re hungry, maybe. Or wary.” He coughed. “Alert.”
I turned, gazing down the street. I’d been here long enough that I’d stopped noticing people –whole people – and begun to merely judge the way they presented themselves. The details, you know? That woman. Black dress, little chubby, dyed red hair. Dismissible. What had her expression been?
A man skated past and I looked at him, properly, letting grandfather’s judgement overlay mine. Saw the grey shirt and black pants and carefully chosen pops of colour. Saw the guarded, wary confidence; the way he evaluated things.
Grandfather looked down at me, and laughed. “Yeah”, he grinned, sputtering, “yeah, just like that”.
*This was just for fun – I live in New Zealand so am ineligible :(
August 31, 2012 at 9:38 pm
“There is no city like New York Kid, remember that?” That’s exactly what the man had said before he had handed over the brown satchel. James had taken it and started skating down University Place. He though about the man. There was something with this man he couldn’t really put words to. He had been strange, yet common, colorful yet plain. Thinking back, as he took one big push after another, what color eyes had the man had? Come to think about it, had he not been wearing sunglasses? No, the strange man had not been wearing shades. James knew his fashion and he would have remembered a pair of shades more than a pair of glowing eyes. “Take this bag to 12th and 5th there will be someone waiting for you there.” Strange. James just passed 11th when the urge got too strong. He just had to look. Slowly he open the satchel. It was Empty! Bizarre. “Hey Kiddo, there you are, right on time.” It was the same man! How had he made it so fast? James handed over the bag. Received the money and took of. Behind him he heard the man. “There is no city like New York Kid, remember that!”
T G Ferguson
August 31, 2012 at 11:00 pm
Cool. Natural. Gonna fit in. Have to stand out. Gotta lock it up today. So what’s it gonna be? I’m deep in the city, biggest in my world, it’s my last chance, and I’m surrounded by buses, cars, concrete and steel. I gotta make this happen. I gotta go with the dark.
Besides, colorful says I care and that’s a direct violation of rule number 8. “Don’t care, publicly.”
Who said the male is the most colorful of any species? That’s for the birds. Ok, I’m lying. I’m dying to splash out! But…I know the rules and today is the first day. Man, if anyone looks closely, they’ll see it seeping through at the corners. Can’t keep it all suppressed. But it’s mostly dark!
The watch! Gotta have that watch. It’s good luck and it’s my fav. Blue‘s not a bright color, hell, in some shades it’s almost black, kind of. Everything else is grey and black. Maybe the dark red portfolio? Naw, it’s dark, dark red. No probs there. No, the real color will be on the down-low. My wheels and my socks. That’s it! You know the rules.
September 1, 2012 at 1:10 am
They say that if you want to make it in this city, you’ve got to follow the rules. I call bullshit. You’ve got to change them.
I’m not a Z-boy, and I’ve never been to Venice Beach. I’m a New Yorker, born and bred from the concrete streets. There are no back yard swimming pools here to skate in. Cars, people, bicycles, skateboards…we all exist on the same turf.
Men in suits sometimes pass me by, I see their disdain. But it will be me who’ll be laughing first when I prove there’s more to style than impeccably tailored suits or brand name labels. It’s about what’s on the inside above all else. Letting that inner voice speak. And if that voice tells you to skate, then just skate. ‘Cause there’s no better way to see the city than from the ground up. They can take their 40th floor offices in the sky. I’ll take my skateboard.
September 1, 2012 at 9:08 am
So, how fast does this Aussie need to travel to get there by Wednesday? *sigh* would be nice but I’ll just read others’ stories instead. Skateboarding is a great way to get around NYC.
September 1, 2012 at 2:21 pm
I notice the looks more than I’d like. I guess I notice them because I, myself, am a looker. It’s unfortunate to think about. The people–the men with ties, the storefront sweepers, the young girls with yellow and pink and bracelets on–hear me coming and almost always look. That I understand; those aren’t the lookers I’m talking about. I’m talking about those whose eyes stick, stay, linger.
Is it me? If so, what about me? I’m not the first kid to push a cruiser board through New York City. I’m not the first kid to do it wearing a backwards cap, or a colorful watch, or a T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
What type of people make my eyes linger? Beautiful people, I suppose. But what makes them beautiful to me? I’ve never been attracted to the gaunt model body. I enjoy curves, fluidity, comfort. The comfort that you can see in a person from across the street. The comfort of their walk, their hands, their smile. The comforting effect of seeing people truly comfortable in themselves?
Is that why people look at me? Couldn’t be.
September 1, 2012 at 4:29 pm
They say quitting is for failures. But as Takashi rode his skateboard off the campus, without looking back, he knew that quitting could mean something else. Quitting was liberating, quitting was honest, quitting was leaving his satchel packed with books at the university he would never return to. Today, Takashi was going to do something different. He was going to tell the truth. As he slid down the road, clutching only his beloved sketches, he envisioned the conversation he would have with his parents. He would tell them he was quitting Columbia. He didn’t want to continue Law School; he wanted the same thing he wanted aged 17: to be an artist, to be a painter, to tell a story instead of reciting facts. His father, arriving home at 10 pm, would call him a failure. And in the time between as his mother sat panicked opposite him, wondering how they would pay off his student debt, he would slowly gnaw his thumb, twisting the bright blue watch he won at an art contest, when he first realised what he had to do.
He skated past his house.
Tomorrow he would try.
For now, he was just going to ride.
September 1, 2012 at 11:11 pm
September 1, 2012 at 5:30 pm
The pavement bites. It twists and turns.
It is rough yet smooth like the skin on the back of a great white shark. It has the memory of people who have treaded here before, molding the current that pulls me to where I think I am going. The board and the ground roar for a while, and it starts to echo, vibrating everything in my way. The drumming of an undulating tar ocean begins to swallow you whole.
The glistening black sand races pass me. It starts to look like a black and white film that’s on a never ending loop. My shadows whisper all around, reminding me that they’re there and they’re not there. The blinding sun almost closes my eyes and disguises what is ahead. It burns any remnant of thought except for this tangible moment. The morning air breathes onto my neck and melts into me before time starts to perspire.
September 1, 2012 at 10:24 pm
Jin has never had a quiet morning. He is awakened by the routine morning quarrel of the Hispanic couple next door (Lars forgot to feed the cat again), by the gurgling in his toilet as he flushes down last night’s sick, by the clanging of iron gates as he emerges into the indecent buzz of the morning. He has an amplifier. Zigzagging through the sleepy crowds as he hunts down that first blistering mouthful of caffeine. By the time he makes it to the meeting, he is just alert enough to feel comfortable in his own sweat. He tunes out, deflecting questions and counts. Waits for his heart rate to drop.
A few near snores later, Jin finds himself back on the street again. He doesn’t stop. He forgot his earbuds at the office. Tomorrow it will probably be lost; another intern would’ve snatched it.
He has found his remedy. He can think now. When the streets are lazy, when the sun is lazy, when the world seems to wait for him to move first. Jin tightens his grip on his folio. For the first time, he’s pleased.
September 1, 2012 at 10:59 pm
Rushing like always
I look at my watch and see that I only have 15 minutes to get to my class, but with no sign of the bus, I decided to borrow my brother skateboard ( hopefully he won’t mind) and start skateboarding myself to class.
As I turn a corner I noticed the bus right behind me. Why is it that when I need it the most the bus just doesn’t show up, and when I don’t there it is, and the funniest part is pretty empty.
Life is so unfair
September 1, 2012 at 11:41 pm
What’s that I hear? A damsel in distress!! I am in the element and on my Element ….super wheels to the rescue. I pick up speed and swerve to the left, feeling the wind and riding in the wake. The wheels are hardly touching the ground. I am more fly than Bam Margera.
My funky GPS watch is guiding the way. We weave and we zip past the traffic. I could have lifted that pretzel, but no time for that today.
Phew! Got here in less than 3.58 minutes….ahead of Marie. Now she can’t nag me about being late. And the package is intact too. It’s going to be sweet.
September 2, 2012 at 3:20 am
I’m not going to fit into a mold. Not one of student, son, or employee. Hell no. I create my own. It may not even be original, but it is my own. Screw the trends. Screw the school. Screw the competition. Live a little. Sometimes in this crazy city where the top seems to be the only place for happiness; you just have to let go and live.
September 2, 2012 at 10:28 am
I’m not going to pretend to know: who this gentleman is, where he’s going, where he’s come from, or what he’s thinking. That’s not the point, or at least that’s not what I get from an image like this.
I look to this blog for inspiration. I look for things that I can draw upon, reinterpret, and incorporate into my life. Sometimes that inspiration is in the form of style but sometimes that inspiration is more about lifestyle. This image speaks volumes to me about self-confidence, attitude, and enjoying life. And that’s truly what I’m looking for.
September 2, 2012 at 10:37 am
I’m not going to pretend to know: who this gentleman is, where he’s going, where he’s come from, or what he’s thinking. I can only share what I get from an image like this.
I look to this blog for inspiration. I look for things that I can draw upon, reinterpret, and incorporate into my life. Sometimes that inspiration is in the form of style but sometimes that inspiration is more about lifestyle. This image speaks volumes to me about self-confidence, attitude, and enjoying life. And that’s truly what I’m looking for.
September 2, 2012 at 1:30 pm
Exactly my thoughts ! Thank you !
September 2, 2012 at 10:45 am
It had been brand new three weeks prior. The deck was from Habitat, but that didn’t really matter unless it got him where he needed to go (the last one sucked).
“Try to look like a New Yorker,” they said, “you’ll do fine. Most kids from the Midwest don’t make it outta here alive.” Those summers with his cousins in Queens helped. That’s where he first got into it anyway.
He remembered how those twenty-five minutes felt like forever. He’d ridden that long before but this a special occasion. When he finally got there, he knew it was the right place – a small but very well furnished office. Inside he walked, stone-faced, placing his satchel onto the ebony tabletop.
“I’m not late am I?”
“Just by a minute. Why don’t you sit down and tell us about yourself?” He knew where this was going and grew impatient rather quickly,
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk business.”
“Ok then… How much do you want up front?”
‘… …Shit,’ he thought, ‘Is my stuff really that good?’ He didn’t expect them to bite so quickly, “…How bout a hundred thousand?”
He still rides that skateboard six Grammys later.
Roll up my chinos and my t shirt sleeves. Done? Done. Grap my iPad. Hold it nonchalantly. Large watch, high tops and my board. Kick off and glide, this is New York City. I am the picture of unstudied cool. Right? I swallow, and turn my cap around so the peak points to where I’ve come from. My chain swings uncertainly and the snap of closing doors and bang of an exhaust pipe behind me sets me off to where I’m going.
September 2, 2012 at 5:22 pm
Joshi’s pensive thoughts raced from the buzz of the city as he kicked off the pavement, holding tight his case, feeling the August Manhattan air slip up his cuffed sleeves and rolled pant legs.
The sounds of the bus behind motivated a swift departure as Joshi held firm his rights as a boarder and imagined his body occupying the entire lane. In this recurring west-coast born fantasy, the mode of transport assumed a size inversely proportionate to its per person carbon footprint. He was the biggest in the vicinity and barreled joyously down the center lane. The bus was his sidekick and followed like his younger brother used to, asking without asking how to be “cool” in this life. The ravenous taxis and private cars were left to cling to the sidewalk.
…if only…Joshi thought…at least I’m shitting regularly this time here. A cab stopped abruptly in front of him at a mid-range hotel. Tourists emerged. He failed to notice, though, as he swerved around it and protected himself from seeing every detail, a conscious choice and necessary trait to thrive in a new life on the vibrant island that never sleeps.
Pam in Colorado
September 2, 2012 at 8:03 pm
‘The Secret Service will never find me here,” Niles Giordano said to himself. Running for president was taking its toll. He’d had it up to here with speeches, dark suits and ties and, worse yet, plaid shirts and jeans for campaign stops in the farm states. Niles was definitely a T-shirt and khakis type of guy, a man who liked the freedom to skateboard through the streets and while enjoying a clear day.
The election was 75 days away and Niles was concerned. He’d only been in politics five years so he was far from a seasoned veteran. He was an ambitious young maverick who had parlayed a successful business career into a Congressional seat. One thing was for sure: the man knew how to dress and he was a master at finding photo opportunities. And as he rolled along, he spotted a photographer in the doorway up ahead. But what would the voters think if they saw him in such a casual mode? Obviously, only one way to find out.
September 2, 2012 at 10:26 pm
My mother let me ride a skateboard because I told her it’d be cheaper than the subway. She didn’t know about girls, the kind who ask you to buy them really innocent things like cherry lollipops when you own a skateboard. I’d never cared much for girls, but I cared about people liking me, so I let the girls like me. Eleven years later, I still skate. Without my board, it’s hard to understand the city, the patterns of rush hour walkers and midday dog walkers. Leo tells me I work too hard to look hip, but he works too hard not to. He doesn’t understand what looking good means to a guy like me. My mother still lives in the dining table in the bathroom kind of apartment above her dry cleaning business. I visited her this morning.
“Look,” I said. “Work is going well. I’ll be able to get you out of here.”
She only smiled at me, pressed a pile of my shirts she’d washed and ironed into my hands.
“Jon Jon, go be the city. Leave me here to be a mother.”
She’s my city too, she and this skateboard I bought when I was ten.
September 2, 2012 at 11:07 pm
These people think they know me, think they got me all figured out. Another punk on a skateboard doing nothing with his days but shredding concrete and chasing chicks but little do they know I’m on my way to the next chapter and it’s not another casting call for an “attractive asian guy with natural style” either. I might not ever trade in these wheels, but there’s always room for an upgrade. If I can push t-shirts and kicks, I can flip that knowledge and sell you anything. Here I come suckas!
Fabrice Pascal Alce'
September 3, 2012 at 12:12 am
This picture tells a story, a motif, of transition and identity. Minimalistic elegance. Organic. This student is in between class and writing at his favorite spot in Washington square. He comes from money. His future, if he dares accept the one written for him, is set after he finishes his time at NYU.
It’s the details that make an outfit: backwards cap with coffee brown computer bag speak to a swagger a clash of two ideologies: unique form and progress. The Simple transportation contrasted with modern movement speaks to his independence. He will move forward after school, but it will be at his pace, his direction. Growing up in the world of opulence, his outfit speaks to a helpless retreat , a rebellion of sorts, from what he knows as second nature. The simplicity of his outfit speaks to this young man’s desire for an organic beginning to whatever career he begins after college. Even if he works at his dad’s company, the desire to do so must be a natural one, awakened by passion, not by obligation.
September 3, 2012 at 12:21 am
Most days he liked the sunshine, but today it made him ache. His heart melted into his abdomen as he rolled along the pavement, passing cars and city buses. The easy gray shirt, a casual camo hat, even his favorite blue watch had all been just right for the earlier meeting. A morning breakfast with his best friend who he secretly loved deeply had all gone terribly wrong. Back with photos from a trip to Paris, she gushed about a new job and the life she’d make there. She told him each day’s adventures and finally of the romantic date in the arrondissement that reminded her of the lower east side. The Lower East Side belonged to him, and to her by extension. The thought of another man winning her in Paris made him want to beat the air. Sinking on the inside, smiling helplessly on the outside, he had listened. Now, as he glided away from breakfast on his skateboard, he hid his pain and rolled forward, wishing for a storm.
September 3, 2012 at 12:31 am
What time, send a message, late, stop light, girl, job offer,dinner, new city, stupid driver, fresh shoes, take it, packing, push off, student loan, final project, nice car, taking the bus, future, time, thirty-four dollars, laundry, late, cool air, pedestrian, job offer, new city, girl.
deep breath in..
deep breath out..
The racing stops. Realization seeps in, of the current destination, and the ultimate decision is understood.
September 3, 2012 at 2:38 pm
Wait up life.
I’m an outdoor guy living in a big city.
So what’s your hurry?
September 3, 2012 at 6:25 pm
Hi, my name is Daniel. I’m the founder of a small tech startup here in New York City.
I moved here from Minneapolis, MN, where I started out as a financial consultant for a firm. I was hired immediately after graduating college, and for five years I reported to work in suit and tie, and constantly traveled from city to city eight months out of a year. The work was challenging and thrilling. I was good at what I was doing. Then, I started to feel as if a huge part of me was gone. I decided to take a stab at doing what I was passionate about. I had a concept I was fiddling around with — now I just needed to make the leap.
So I jumped, and without a parachute at that. I flew to NYC the very Friday night my two weeks’ notice was up. I was hungry to do something that was all my own. My time was now my own, and I need to make it count. I needed to start off fresh, so I took what was important and representative of me: My skateboard, my leather portfolio containing my ideas, my favorite hat, and my passion.
Hi, my name is Daniel.
September 3, 2012 at 6:52 pm
Ever the skater, you dress for a heat, flashing small rebellions—the hat backwards, the briefcase strapless, the shoes always sans socks. Better to sense the sun in its season on your face, better to hold the leathers flush against your core.
Better to feel the transfer from street to feet raw. Elemental: you, wood, metal. The invisible physics that start in the kick, push of your foot, block upon block. Cyclical, you feel the charge come back to you, from gravel to wheel, axle to deck to bare sole and toes so you can coast. We make our own momentum.
Boards like yours are stock as taxis here. Cheaper, free, and freeing, faster than one’s feet if more fleeting. The deck suspends your body between asphalt and air. Neither driver nor pedestrian, you’re a being in between, slipping past people and skidding through cracks among cars. All humid bodies to be outstripped.
You see more scenes than those who walk, more details than those who ride. You see all signs but never mind. You fly too fast for a heavy shadow, too fast for a steady heart. The board is your means, your lover, your culture—look closer.
September 4, 2012 at 2:33 am
Out of all three photographs, this one particularly stands out, for me at least. I see a lot of me in him. The carefree attitude, juxtaposition of contrasting elements, and that strong brow-everything that I yearn for. All this while nonchalantly skating by University Place. He could be on his way to class, hot date?, or even a meeting for all I know, which is another reason why this photo calls out to me. You can’t pinpoint one thing and that’s the power of photography. You can never really know what you are seeing.
Don’t turn around please… make believe he is not there. Sure I saw him! He is impossible to miss. Are you kidding me, off course I am blushing, I don’t want to say hello…I’m so sad. Did you see? He was wearing the chain I gave him for his birthday…don’t ask me anything now, I feel terrible, I guess is too late, sometimes is too late for certain things. I am such a fool! He was the best we ever had… a great stylist, and with the best sense of humor. There will never be another Lao. Don’t look at me like that! You instigated that horrible f-ing fight between us, if you can pardon my English monsieur le bitch.
Is so rare to find that kind of serene face, remember? Always ready for action. Some people like him are born ready, therefore the simplicity. Nothing would crack that style of his. If there is ever something to resent between us, is that fight. I guess I just prefer to live in denial of your guts for not running behind his skateboard and ask him if he would find it in his heart to forgive us and come back to work for us again…
September 4, 2012 at 3:43 am
anyone know where he got the bag from? i’m really digging it!
September 4, 2012 at 8:34 am
My body in New York but my mind and soul on the coast. Surf side up.
September 4, 2012 at 5:11 pm
Kexin pumped a few times to pick up speed to make a green light. The sun had baked the asphalt so that it felt like he was skating over an inferno on his way to class. The last day of his summer term and he had to present his collection with his two models. His models had just gotten back from respective trips to Europe. Joey had told him that he had been playing a lot of squash and Vanessa was raving about how swimming was keeping her trim even though all they did was eat chacuterie and drink wine. Kexin hoped the clothes fit.
“Hey, watch it asshole!” A cab driver yelled at him as Kexin cut him off.
Kexin shrugged in response and kept pumping. Fashion was how he got here, but skating was starting to infect him. He had found his first board in on the streets of Beijing with a battered copy of Skate. The feel of skating through the city at a different pace than the cars, pedestrians, and bicycles was intoxicating. Kexin at times still couldn’t believe that he was here, but being on his board helped him to appreciate every moment.
September 5, 2012 at 11:56 am
This is Peter. Peter is practically an establishment in the NY surf community, and is an awesome guy and a great surfer. Always stoked to see him around town or in the water. Great shot!
September 6, 2012 at 9:20 pm
Ha! I wonder what he thinks of all these stories inventing characters for him?
September 5, 2012 at 9:06 pm
He was beautiful. She watched him glide slowly towards her, saw the light hit the gentle planes of his face and shine on the height of his cheekbones.
She saw the thicket of his neck and shoulders that betrayed a muscular physique, shadowed by the artful drape of his gray, cotton shirt.
Why gray? Why not white?
White would have cooled and reflected the intense glare of the sun. But gray made the golden, redness of his skin glow and glowed alongside with it.
No. Not white.
White would have been too harsh, fighting for attention against the incandescent, silken liquidity of his skin.
She followed the gleam down his arm and along the path etched by his veins, that sat under his flesh and stopped where the path became hidden by the fold of his hand which held a large, brown leather wallett, burnished by the sun.
Grey cotton, brown leather, golden skin all set alight.
She looked up towards the heavens and gave thanks for sight, colour, sunlight, beauty and the slight breeze that swept over her as she heard the sound of wheels against asphalt fading away in to the distance.
September 6, 2012 at 12:22 pm
why there are only days when I can look at you?
sun in my eyes
wind under my arms
slowly contour my chest
i am rolling closer to see you
faster than yesterday
slower than tomorrow
why there are only days when I can see you?
September 7, 2012 at 11:43 pm
PETER! I love this kid.
September 3, 2013 at 11:04 pm
It’s another perfect day in New York City. Everyone wants Jason to do something and to be somebody. His boss wants him to be more cheerful. His girlfriend wants him to talk more. Hi parents want him to get a steady job and not throw his life away. They all need him to reach his potential. ‘Isn’t there something you wanna do? Someone you wanna be?’ and his favorite- ‘You have so much potential!’. What does the word potential even mean? Potential for what? Tot turn it into what? Why do you have to make money off your potential? He’d spent so much of his life pleasing everyone around him because he thought that he could earn their love this way. But no matter how hard he tried, it was all in vain. He felt caged by expectations and hopes which forced him to be someone he didn’t want to be. But Jason had spent too many hours in a job he didn’t give a shit about, too many nights arguing with his girlfriend over misunderstood texts, too many holidays trying to explain his life choices to his family. It was time to pick himself up and stop sabotaging his own life. The only thing that released him from his cage of helplessness was drawing. When he drew the New York City skyline, he felt a sense of belonging. When he drew the quiet Jewish girl waiting for her subway, he experienced beauty in the unexpected. When he drew the couple fighting outside their apartment in Brooklyn, he felt their unbridled passion pierce his soul. Jason thought about his future as he skated to hand in his drawings to a design firm, which could lead to a new chapter in his life. Or not. Either way something about the warm New York air assured him of better things to come.