Concrete Jungle where Dreams are made

New York. One month. Jiu Jitsu? I’m gonna learn... Jiu Jitsu? 

Flight, taxi, hostel, Tanja and Katherina and Flavio and Phillipe. Alone, jet lagged, settling in, wandering around, getting my bearings. I’m not in Kansas any more. Superbowl, sleepiness, bewilderment. Sleep. Jen, Jiu Jitsu, Vitor and Loro, Gabriel and Tete and too many others to name you all, my jiu jitsu family. Blues, purples, browns and blacks, oh my! Side control, collar choke, tap tap tap.
Sleep train eat sleep. These streets will make you feel brand new. Holy crap it’s cold, Asif. Acai and Beans and Rice. Five dollar footlongs. Ramen. Times Square, Rockefeller, Central Park, Grand Central, tourist and voyeur. English people fucking everywhere. Strikeforce in town, Bigfoot Silva in the house, Здравствуйте FEDOR! Kak delah? Frank Shamrock. JT, Gareth, Sarah and the gang. Harold and Harold go to Whitecastle. Fashion Week, Chelsea, Meatpacking District, Brass Monkeys, Juliet Supper Club and table service, more sodding Londoners. Plunge. NYC skyline at nighttime. Hollywood Diner. Breathe. Sleeeeeep.

 

And... Week two. The one with Unagi. Sushi, sake, ahhh, salmon skin roll. Subway lines, wtf? Drive by teddy bear. Side control, knee on belly, collar choke, tap tap tap. Tim and Jo and Chris. 5 hour energy shots. Lower East Side, the Village, hipsters, Justin Long in a dive bar, some random cowgirl on the street. Train, eat, sleep. More bloody Brits, beer, jaegerbombs in fricking pint glasses. Harold and Kumar hit the town, which one am I again? Brendan and Mel and Ciaran and Tom and Sebastian and the others who come and go. Rumours, Barcelona Bar, the Bread Factory, Marco and 24/7 pizza. Stood up on the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset. Manhattan bridge, Once Upon a Time in America, stood up in Starbucks.

Week three? All days blend together. Sleep, train, eat, sleep, train, eat, drink, choked out, fade to black. Shaolin shouts, make your grips! Touristy stuff. Natural History museum, dinosaurs! Alexandria, INFP. Pancakes in Veselka. Here’s looking at you kid. Going to Little Italy, I’ll get my little passport. Chinatown adventure. Buddhas, beads, fortune’s a good un, fingers crossed. Synagogues and stalked by fire trucks. Five points. Homer Simpson drinks bubble tea, random engrish everywhere. Five points and the gangs of New York. Sushi and Starbucks, people watching. Triangle tattoos, cavy baby. You can see Hooters from Carnegie Hall and vice versa. Cage Warriors, Hurleys, UFC, good Samaritans, K Town. 

Week four? Time is running out. Train eat sleep drink, turns out I do know a bit of jits. Not that much though, tap tap tap. Puppies, the Met, spring is in the air. Washington Square and scavenger hunts, after sunset. Last session at the gym, hostel family breaking up, all good things come to an end. Japas 55, Larry. Long Island Pride, tap tap tap, open weight, no tap. Astoria, Copacabana, Spanish bar, Fontana’s, Feeling Gloomy follows me from North London to NYC. The Back Room, prohibition, beer in brown paper bags. Seriously, every other person I meet is English. Psycho roommate. Famous Cozy Diner. Beaten by a burger. I want to be a guinea pig, so fucking bad. The Big Strawberry. Seriously, I’m going to come over and kick your door down. Puddles you could drown a cow in, umbrellas blown inside out, last drinks with good friends.

Check out, check in. Starbucks, sunset, the square, moonlight and bagpipes in the shadow of the arch. We'll always have Paris. Buy t shirts, crap they only have small ones, photos with the gang, Shaolin speechifies, 'Dom, this your home now'. Mad dash to the airport, crazy Nepalese cab driver. Sitting on the runway, last minute texts. I'm going to miss y'all. Every ending is a beginning. JFK. NY-LON.

Since I made it here I can make it anywhere. Sayonara NYC, I’ll be back.