May 2012: I quit my job and burn all my bridges so I can swim. I won't realize that was wishful thinking until a few months later. Summer starts gliding by like a sailboat. I master the Dead Man's Float. I'm not working and life is a lazy river; I'm a...
I’m sleeping alone in the backseat of a parked rental car at 5 AM in a terrible neighborhood in Miami when the door opposite me clicks open and a grizzly old black drunk man slides in next to me, shutting the car door behind him. His eyes and skin are...
A few days ago the text came. It was from a 202 number—D.C. "Call Paul at 202XXXXXXX or your dad if you want to know what's going on," it read.
Three years ago I was running around with sociopaths and addicts. Predators who took me to the projects to spend my money on crack and heroin and snap obscene Polaroids of me when I fell asleep.
It’s the 'Purple Magazine' party during Fashion Week and I’m at a booth with my friends. And then there's Lindsay Lohan.
It's a sunny afternoon in Soho and I've had five glasses of champagne with a married celebrity at a bar. I’m spun like a kite from gobbling Dexedrine all week. Amphetamine Logic is about to step in.