Quincy Valero
Everybody’s best friend
Jet black hair
Shiny brown eyes
A boyish smirk
Standing six foot something
Coming out of catholic school agnostic
Attending state college

Every word that came out of his mouth was a riot
A funny story of a bad situation he was in that he can laugh at now
An awkward moment with a girl he tried to get in bed
God awful train rides with a clueless conductor

Quincy Valero
A wanna-be Casanova
The irish-italian self-proclaimed “Don Juan of Dumont”
Roaring down the suburb streets in his bright yellow mustang
From Bergen county to Trenton
Edgewater to Ewing
Bumping R&B; from the 90's

A main girl
A side chick
And a few back pocket broads
Leading them on
To where?
I’m not even sure he knows

Quincy Valero
My best friend since I’ve been here in Purgatory
My lifelong cellmate
My hetero life mate
My brother of second thought
Our token white boy

He’s had his ups
Wild ragers until day break
A four way with me and two girls in my four door sedan
He’s had is downs
Falsely charged with domestic abuse
Community service, endless court room hearings, suspensions and a whole bunch of nonsense

Quincy Valero
The quintessential example of the modern day male
Stays up all night
Sleeps all day
Opportunistic
Egotistical
Miserly
*****
And hungry

Always aching to put in his two cents
And leaving everyone in a howl of laughter
An Adderall popping
Seasoned drinker
A professional *** smoker, coached by yours truly
Fast talking baritone voice
With a half serious tone

Yes, Quincy Valero
The tight plain white t-shirt wearing
Chino sporting
Nostalgic, slightly racist, sexist, anti-semitic
Bust usually honest, friendly and apologetic
Good hearted dude we all love to hate
And hate to love

Bed-headed
Pajama bottom ***
Talking about his Svedka regrets
And we laugh and laugh and the stupidest things
Then remember events that seem so long ago
And then make plans for tomorrow
Yeah, one of my best friends
My oldest friend
That’s Mr. Quincy Valero

What have I done?
I've unleashed Quincy Valero into The Big Bad City, upon Greenwich Village for the first time
The 177 express, round trip
To Port Authority
To the A train to Canal

We missed our stop
Had to walk from Soho to Washington Square Park
But along the way we saw artists and galleries
Head shops and street performers
Hobos and junkies

"We made it"
"We in this *****!"
Quincy said as we walked through the arches

We saw a multitude of creatures
An artist drawing floral murals with chalk
Meditating Buddhists
A cello player playing for a meal
A drummer drumming for money to get back home
A jazz band
A clarinet player
Writers scribbling down whatever came to mind

We saw beautiful women everywhere
"Look, my ten, your two"
Quincy said nodding to a **** brunette wearing a sundress walking by

We got coffee at The Third Rail coffee shop
We met lovey dovey couples and a girl poet sipping espresso

Treading down Bleaker to Sullivan to Macdougal to Huston
*** shops, leather and studs, ****** and flavored lubes
"This **** reminds me of Saw"
Quincy said with a laugh
"Too much for your threshold aye?"
I said nudging him

We passed a guy selling vinyl on the street
"How much for the Charlie Parker record?" I asked
He took the record out and inspected it
"Five bucks" he said
"How long you gonna be here, like till what time?" I asked
"Oh I don't live by time or numbers" he answered
"Time ain't your mast huh?" I laughed
"Nope, you cant spell T-I-M-E without M-E" he said
Quincy and I looked at eachother with a grin
"I'll be back, if I'm not here before you leave good luck in your ventures" I said as we walked away
"Thanks brother enjoy the day" he said smiling and waving

We ate to Papaya Hot dogs
Best in the city
Then to the pool hall

Now folks, it is common knowledge where I'm from the Quincy Valero is the local pool shark
He can break and sink three *****
He can jump over your ball and get his in
He can shoot behind his back with one hand

Playing with him is a guaranteed loss
But I never cared, I just like playing
We talked and laughed about all the stupid nonsense back at home
And planned our next move

We went to The Blue Note, the best jazz club in the city
The Dizzy Gillespie All Star Band was playing that night
But it was too expensive for both of us so we went on to St. Mark's place

More head shops
More *** shops
And book stores, clothing stores
Punk things in Search and Destroy, record stores
All that good stuff

It was getting late
Back to Bleaker to start drinking
First stop, a little pub
The bartender was a gorgeous blonde, sweet as could be
We ordered two beers
She seemed to be having trouble with the tap
"Sorry guys it's a little foamy, next rounds on me"
We were amazed by that because back home all the bartenders couldn't care less if we got a whole mug of foam
We clinked glasses and took that first cool icy sip
So nice on such a hot day

"Ya know dude, this is it this is perfect" Quincy said
"What you mean?" I asked
"Well this is a great time, I'm on vacation right now and were here exploring and relaxing and enjoying the moment, this moment" he said with his beer hovering over his mouth

Quincy always talked about "This"
This moment
This time
This feeling
This thing

"This" is that time when you're in the moment
That moment of complete and total encumbrance
When you're wrapped up in what you'r doing because you love it and you're happy
The moment you live for
The moment you want to last forever
This moment
This right here
Not then, not before or after
But right now, this
We lived our lives trying to to make this happen every second of everyday
Living it up

Quincy took me to Artichoke Pizza
And my God, it was immaculate
A nine in wide, nine inch long and half inch thick slice of heaven
It was a mixture of crunchy, gooey, savory goodness
I highly recommend it

Then back to the bars
Wicked *****'s
Triona's
Off The Wagon
The Bitter End
GMT
The Red Lion
Cafe Wha?
1849

Beer
Wine
***
Whiskey
Scotch on the rocks
Bourbon

Smoking electronic cigarettes down cobble stone roads
Passing hipsters, college students and tweakers
Locals and tourists
"Out of my way you tourist *******" I yelled frantically pushing my way passed them with Quincy trudging behind

You can always spot a tourist because they got their cameras, their ***** packs and their head looking up saying "ooo look at the building and that one!" taking snap shots in awe

We walked to The V-club
As we walked up to the entrance a little old lady in a wheel chair called out to us, "Are you two brothers?"
We laughed and said "no, were best friends and next door neighbors"
"Oh, well you too look very similar, very young" she said
"Yeah we're both twenty one" Quincy said
"You live around here?" I asked
"Right over there" she said pointing to the building across the street
She told us about how the building was falling apart and how all the law students got booted out leaving the little old lady and one other person living in the nine floor heap
"Back in the day there were river rats in their the sized of cats, but now we only have mice" she said
"I'm being moved though, whenever the land lords and the officials decided where" she added
She had some sort old senior citizen perk that allowed her to be taken care of
She then started to spit some of her poetry from thirty years ago, perfectly from memory
It was full of truth, insight and hope
We were floored by this wheelchair bound geriatric
She was a a retired barmaid, a poet, and an ex-lounge singer
Her name was Tracy Warren

The three of us walked into the V-club
I ordered a glass of Pinot Noir
And Quincy got a draft Brooklyn Lager
While pulling out a stool a spilled my wine all over the wooden table
"****" I said as everyone in the bar watched me put my face in my palms
I got paper towels and cleaned up my mess while the bartender leaned over to Quincy and said "If you don't tip me that will be your last drink ever in here"
"Okay" Quincy said as he walked over to me laughing at my expense
"If it was Burgundy I'd be in tears" I said with a half serious frown

I went to the bartender and apologized and asked sheepishly if I could possibly get a refill

"You spilled your wine?" he asked with sarcasm
"Yeah" I said
"And you want me to give you another?" he asked
"Well, I mean I don't know if that's okay or not that's why I'm asking" I said
"We don't, it isn't okay, you have to buy another one" he said with the most insulting tone I've ever heard
"Okay" I said with disdain

"**** this guy" Quincy and I both said
I left the remaining wine dripping off the table
Quincy ****** all over the bathroom
He finished his beer and we left without tipping that bearded-high and mighty- *******
We said goodbye to Tracy and she told us to enjoy every moment and to get home safely

We went to one more bar, had one more drink and headed home
But on the way to the train we got stopped by a ***
"Hey you give me money I know you got it" he yelled at Quincy
"Na man, hes broke trust me" I said to end the oncoming confrontation
"No yous lying i know it" he said
"Na, see those shoes? I got him those shoes, fifty five bucks" I told him
"Stop putting me on" he yelled
Then some white knight hipster wearing thick rimmed glasses and a green flannel stepped in and said "What's going on here? You picking on my friend?" While putting his arm around the *** mocking him and making trouble for us
"This ******* won't give me any money for my troubles" he told the hipster
"Come on man, give 'em something" he said to Quincy
"Dude, he has no money he spent all he had today" I said to the hipster and the ***
"He's a trust fund kid, he gets it from mommy and daddy" I said winking to Quincy
"Trust fund kid?!" the hipster said
"Trust fund kid!" said the ***
"TRUST FUND KID, TRUST FUND KID" screamed the hipster, the *** and myself laughing at Quincy making a scene
Then me and Quincy just walked away throwing our heads back howling at the full moon, drunk and exhausted heading for the subway  

The subway to Port Authority
Our legs, our feet and our ***** were killing us
We just wanted to sit

We could not for the life of us find our gate
We got misdirections from officers, other public transportation patrons
Thank God for this one janitor for pointing us in the right direction out of our wild goose chase
And ***** the guy who I asked "Hey man do you know where I can find the gate for the 177 express?"
And all I got was a blank indifferent stare
"WELL **** ME RIGHT?!" I yelled in his face

Finally we got on the line for our bus
We saw some weaselly looking guy cutting the line until he got booted to the back of the line
As he passed us we both looked at his and said "Weet, get meerkatted scumbag"
He had to wait for the next bus, whenever that was

The bus ride home felt like an eternity
But we made it
We had to walk down the unpaved dirt road to our street

We did it
We took on The Village
Sailed through the bars
Walked the streets
Met cool, hip people
Made memories
And now we have stories to tell

It's the third week of summer and we've had nothing but gray skies
No sunshine

Quincy Valero is in a bad way these days

He's been dumped
She wanted a kid, a ring and a promise of a life time
He said no
She left

Now, he's searching far and wide for a new dock to make port

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out three likely candidates

One who has blown hid mind on multiple occasions, and quite a few others

Another who has been straight up stalking him and begging for one night of beastly ***

The last who if he got drunk or high enough she'd do anything, unfortunately she resembled an ugly spud

The firs girl was right out, she informed Quincy that since the last time they hung out she found a boyfriend which she is dedicated to

The second girl has been on vacation since the end of the semester and won;t be back until the next one starts

The third girl is seeing some one but said she would hook up with Quincy if circumstance allowed

He has fallen into a state on unbathed sloth
Staying up until six am
Waking up at three pm
And not going to the gym

He crashed his Mustang back in Ewing
He hasn't come clean about it
His father told me
Quincy tells me it;s just sitting back at his house down there and he's too lazy to go get it

He now goes to online dating cites in hopes of getting laid

What has become of the self-proclaimed Don Juan of Dumont?

I can only pray this time of depressing desperate sadness is temporary

Hahaha
Quincy Valero, once again on crutches
He always manages to do this to himself
This time he was in his required exercise class and dislocated his knee
I just laugh at this

When we were younger he got roaring drunk and began doing an inebriated salsa
"SALSA KING!"
We all chanted
All of a sudden one leg wen one way and one the other way
He screamed in pain
It was a  hairline fracture

Another time he had a lovers quarrel with this girl he was seeing
They fought all the time
Like all the time
And one night in a furious rage
Quincy punched a wall and fractured his hand

A few weeks later I had a pool party
And Quincy had to wrap his damaged hand in a plastic bag and hold it at a 90 degree angle the whole time

He takes all these injuries to heart
He's the kind of guy who has always got to be moving
He's always gyrating, talking, laughing
And when he's even the tiniest bit immobile or disabled
He goes into a short period of depression and self pity

It's just funny to me because just when I think he'll be okay
Some how he manages to just get himself hurt
The clutz haha
Even now, I'm talking to him
He hurt his thumb the other night at a party he threw two days ago

LONG LIVE THE SALSA KING!

There’s a boarding  house off the main road

Right by the park

It’s called The Roach Motel
And that’s where we had quite a number of our infamous get togethers

When it was occupied with Latin dance music and the stomping of feet, it was like a pulsating tumor on that side of town

The Roach Motel
Because you could drink till you blacked out and then spend the night on the floor as a guest with various multiple legged pests

Silverfish on the walls
***** dishes stacked well in the sink
Day old Chinese food in the table
And of course roaches weaving in and out of the crevices of the kitchen

Yet people always came back knowing of such dishevelment

Maybe it was the fully stocked refrigerator of at least four different kinds of ice cold beer

Or the vast array of liquors that were always present
Gin
Whiskey
***
Whiskey
Tequila
And the sodas and juices to mix them with or use as chasers

It may very well be the delicious, calming tobacco that was stuffed into the alluring green hookah with two hoses
One red
One blue

I believe it’s simply the vibe of it all

When you’re at The Roach Motel you feel free, you feel like all your worries are gone
And there’s always a drink in your hand and you’re always among friends even in strange company

Whatever it was we always found ourselves going back

The Roach Motel was owned by Venezuelan mother of six children who allowed these festivities to commence

And when word got out that there would be a party soon to come everyone spread that word all over like a pat of Land O’ Lakes on a warm English muffin

Kids from Bergenfeild
From Dumont
From New Milford, Palisades and Garfield

Drinking the night away with bugs and good friends

The mangy scruffy rat looking dog running around the whole party avoiding being stepped on
Unidentifiable arthropods crawling out the sink

Laughing uncontrollably
Conversing incoherently
Then passing out and waking up with a horrible hangover

I remember the time four of our friend puked their guts out there

One in the toilet
One in the bath tub
On in the bedroom
And one on the living room floor…there was corn in it

Two hours of comforting and clean up

I remember our 420 party
Where the legendary Quincy Valero ate his very first bud brownie and went on a trip he still to this day cannot replicate

I recall setting off fireworks off in the back of The Roach Motel and in my drunken buffoonery knocking over a lit mortar and nearly blasting the neighbor’s fence down but it was averted thanks to Quincy’s rare swiftness

This place is a backdrop of so many hook ups, so many good times and of course insect infestation

Although a great party pad it was filthy and you would feel itchy whenever you thought about how gross it was
I would never sit on a couch or on a bed
I had the fear of picking up bed begs and bringing them home

But despite that The Roach Motel was our own little slice of Dionysian Utopian freedom

It mirror all our rundown rugged ***** souls that just needed a place to unwind and fall apart and float down the bourbon river and just lose it

With a joint or an electric cigarette being passed around
And electronic music being blasted
It was always another night full of future stories to tell
The Roach Motel

Or,  The Poor Man's Bread*

Three pieces
Of pandesal to begin a day.

Where’s the salt in here? I ask.

Then came three beads of sweat
Trailing my face after a walk

On three streets:
Valero, Leviste and Dela Costa.

I climb on the 9th Floor,
Of Liberty Centre Building,*
To make salt.

unapproachable
she, an EMSA driver, framed by gasoline rainbows and held together by hairpins,
sat on the back of an ambulance in a Valero station's lot,
corner of 2nd and Kelly, a passerby might have thought her waiting,
but I knew that to be wrong
that radio would go off in the cab, heart attack, broken hip, sideswipe
she'd remain right there picking at the sticky barcode on the back
of her Bic lighter, she couldn't be bothered with the sound of sirens
she had a history and didn't want anymore dates to dictate and memorize
she looked through me past Fox Hollow Lane, past the unwatched children,
past the rusting panels of ice cream truck, into that eternal place that
I thought only French singers' eyes on album covers in the sixties could find---
unapproachable
but

Now, if you think I am the only writer or poet of my kind in this New Age Millennium, you are mistaken

There is me that is, Sammy Kendricks and my crew of reject ragtag writers extraordinaire who are going to change this world

First on the roster we have Haden Zanders, a poet who tackles topics from a humorous but  intelligent and eloquent way

Then there's Zach Nichols my personal shaman, he's into paganism, mysticism, alchemy and spirituality as a whole
His writing is out of this world, literally and add to it he's a musician who is single handedly innovating the neo tribal music genre

Next In Derek Neman, a poet and musican close to my heart, a bit younger than the rest of us but still hold his own
He is loving, caring and has a strong spirit that I know will take him wherever he goes
His words can make mountains weep

Then there are Kaspar and Otto
Kaspar is a poet of the romantic variety, hopelessly devoted to love
Otto is a writer who can sum up any topic in a matter of a few lines
But powerful lines they be
Short, sweet and to the point

Up next is my good friend Jeeves, Jeeves isn't his real name
His real name is Nat but that was too boring so we all call him Jeeves
He is one of the mad ones, stricken with a severe case of wanderlust and wonderment
He served in the navy for three years
Now he's back and writes of his travels and his loves and losses
He paint, plays bass and philosophizes the human condition

Of course how could I forget Pete, a clean cut good 'ol boy
Always down to meet woman and have a drink and make a night out of a day
He writes rhymes like I've never seen
So vibrant and addicting

We all have that friend we **** heads with and Sonny is that friend for me
We're opposites in every sense of the word
You all know me so imagine the reverse
But his writing is political, realistic, stoic, emotional and completely him
I love him to death, there will come a day where we throw down

Now finally last but not least
You know him
You love him
You hate him
It's the Don Juan of Dumont
The one and only
Quincy Valero
His writing reads as fast as he lives
A mile a minute
Girls, cars, drugs, food, parties
Excess and excitement
Memories and mistakes
Highs and lows
Yes

But of course we have other non writing friends
Zeik Adams my engineering friend whos gonna be rich someday
Nyal Jensen our dancing friend who always brings it to the floor in every club we hit
Ahio Rikashi our best bud from the far east, romantic and deep
Kyle Filmore my trippy drummer
And Mike Neman, Derek's younger brother and one of my closest friends

We've all shared pain and laughter
Trips, drunken evenings
Road trips, meals
Quarrels and misunderstandings
But we all care about each other
And all of our writing and our goal to always be there to check the pulse of this world
Hell, even start it up when it wains off every now and then
We're here to give this generation a kick start
A reminder of what we can and will do
We can revitalize our world with knowledge, understanding and unity
We are the pulse generation

I'm not nervous
Fire away
Not too long
But it will be a while
A pity laugh

Unconventional methods of scribbling
I'll tell you again
Symbolic chicken scratch

Compassionate

Stylized specimen
Putting you on

Why do it?
Honest
Full of faith
Going West

State to state
Be sad somewhere else
Alone

Because why not
No one left
Just me
My thoughts

Extinct visions
See the world
Through a spotty car window
Skies, suns, stars, seas

Expand
Reinvent
The charity of the cosmos

I found Quincy Valero
Extrovert
Felonious
Random  

Lets go

On the 21st floor of a corporate building
down in Valero street,
there is an orchestra.
The delicate-paired symphony of
clicking keyboards
and heels tapping on cold cement
to the beat of
practiced impassivity.

The seconds also made sounds
along with a chorale
of both sweet and bitter voices
singing like cicadas faintly next to your ear–
"I told you so".
The second you glanced out the window
will have been the twelfth time;
gawking, scanning the view
like a hawk.
But a hawk is vicious—
and you remember how everyday
always seems to feel like a train ride to
a dead end,
and how Fridays are finales
to a weekly competition
where you reward yourself merely with participation
because you’re here,
you’re here,
but you’ve crawled your way to be here.

You’re not a hawk.
But you gaze down at the people
crossing the intersection of streets
and maybe that’s just as good as life can get.

You’re a lighthouse.
Watching as the hours and people go by
through a small office window —
but how do you call yourself a lighthouse if you
have lost your light?
The script says,
“I’m making a living”
and one ought to take it as it is.
But more often than not
we fail to ask ourselves
if we’re actually living,
or just merely getting by.

Nowadays,
the latter sounds more like a normal thing.

Some tweaker came up to me proclaiming himself Jesus Christ and that he alone is responsible for "**** filters and electric wheels"
I nodded and then said
Yeah but I'm God

He didn't like that

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

              The Power was Out, the Road was barely Passable,
                                   a Man Wore a Glock

The dawn was hot and wet and sticky and still
In quest of a coffee and a croissant
I stowed a chainsaw into the four-wheel-drive
And dawdled into town, clearing windfall from the road

The breakfast buffet at the Valero, and then out
Some men blocked the door, swapping pills and cash
I begged their pardon and walk through their deal
One wore a Glock on his hip; they all glowered at me

The dawn was hot; the paper-cup coffee was warm
I drove home and got my old generator to work