It’s not that I think I deserve things, but I just know when I’m better than the situation I’m in. I’m a DJ, born in South Philly, home of the cheese steak and youth violence, the reason that private schools exist. I’ve been spinnin’ since I heard the heat of the late and great ‘Umatage’ and ‘Deinessa,’ rapping too, producing something biting. People always surroundin’ me to check out that jawn. I hung around in my white windbreaker, popped collar over my freckled skin, bringin’ back the chartreuse metallic golf hat, and people threw themselves. I started out with gigs at Dalessandro’s and ended up doin’ shows at nightclubs in New York, not like Lavo types, but things like Dusty Rabbit. And though they come and they’re hammered, I know they can tell I’m pretty much the Rocky of DJs, when everyone else was drawlin, I was the only one whose hammer beat would keep you out an hour later at night. And so yeah, I know I’ve got it—I’m kinda a big deal.

So when my manager, Liza, my favorite broad, been with me since day one, back in the city, calls and says that she’s got me a gig in Atlanta, I’m basically on the floor. Thank you, Liza, you been with me since forever. You’re my girl. When we have money someday and we’re eating steak frites with whiz on the side, we’re gonna be signing checks to—she says hold up. I say don’t play me wrong now, Liza. She’s breathing heavy like she was just ridin’ it. She says Brax, it’s a set of gigs in an all weekend show and two of Dr Prenga’s people are gonna be there, and maybe even MureNak will show up, so I better bring my top game. I say okay. I know exactly what I’m ‘bout to spin there. And she says tickets to Atlanta are pricey. I say I know, I know, she’s not the only one with the skyscanner app. And she says I can’t bring a girl with me; she knows that what I’m ‘bout to ask. Well fine I say, it’s ‘ard. And she’s breathing a little more, and I can now tell she’s not in bed with someone, but holding the dutch and takin’ all that smoke in. That’s my girl. Well she coughs a bit and then says, Brax, even I can’t afford to go. We have no money for this, and I know that you don’t have money since you bought that 32 set of monogrammed grey babyfit windbreakers for you and your crew. Hey, that was a deal, and Etsy has somegoodshit, I say. She laughs that snooty laugh and then gets serious and says that we can’t afford the hotel room for me to go, so if I want to sell it there, I gotta find my own accommodations. Damn. But my mind’s quick, and I think something up. I know one of my exes got an aunt that lives in Atlanta, and that I could totally crash there. I just don’t remember which ex.

The heats on; the gig’s in two weeks. This is last minute hustle shit. I’m listening to some stuff from the ’90s on my ipod tryin’ to think which one was it? Which one was it? I’m not a player by any means, I know DJs like that; they get tail the second they set down their water bottle after a show, no that’s not how it is for me yet. But I have some sort of charm. I’m always willing to buy a girl food and let them baseball glove me. Most of my exes moved to New York now, studying law or working in offices and shit. I think that maybe my dick makes people go-getters. So busy they don’t even have time to call me back and hang around for a water ice and a scrapple. Whatever—fuck that noise. Except I need them now. Well, one of them. So after my gig that night playing at the Grey Binge in the LES, I make up my mind to stop by and see one of the broads, just to see if it’s her.

Now Dahlia, lives in a Chinatown apartment, though girl isn’t Chinese. She’s half Spanish half I don’t know, European drug dealer or something, with hair pulled back so tight in her ponytail, it’s like it’s always being yanked. I met this one by the Schuylkill, where she was breaking up with some other dude, screaming and accusin’ him of sleeping with someone’s lil’ sister. He didn’t really even deny it, he just kept sayin’ baby, baby, it’s ok, your ass is better, she’s too small, you’re so thick, baby look at me. And she slapped him and he called her some shit, and walked off. I was there the next moment with a vanilla cone, tellin’ her she didn’t need him, to listen to my track. And it almost seemed like she was laughing when she had my headphone in her left ear, movin’ her head up and down a bit to the beat, but she hung around a bit with me then fucked me back at my place, kinda laughing when that was happening too, now that I think about it.

So I showed up at her apartment at three a.m.; she keeps the address in her Insta bio, and she buzzed me straight up. I get to the door on the fourth floor, kinda panting cause this shit’s a walkup, and she opens the door with half a robe on, sees me, mouth goes wide, and she slams the door. She opens it again to peer out and sees me. Jesus, Braxton, what the fuck are you doin’ here? I’m expecting a guest. And I’m thinking, at this time? Shit! But she looks at me like she’s the judgey one. And I say, hi Dahlia, just was in the neighborhood, wanted to catch up. She looks me up and down, and says, so you haven’t given up that DJ thing? Fuckin’ pardon her, I’m known. I play gigs all over. I’m comin’ up. And I have to explain all this, but she’s doin’ that thing where she’s sort of almost laughing like she used to and she says to come in, that she’s got a few minutes before her friend stops by. I walk in and she brings me a black cherry Wishniak from the fridge. I make some small talk about the music industry out here and her bein’ such a young profesh’ in the city or whatever and she’s all giggles. It’s been a long time since I made someone laugh and it’s kinda makin’ me laugh. My back loosens up a bit and my chest, too and I’m lookin’ around the room seeing all the plush ass furniture and the wooden framed people-animal photos on the walls and thinkin’ damn this space looks like a grandmas, when I realize that I need to bring up the aunt thing. I kinda awkward transition and say wow this is the kind of space you could raise a family in. She doesn’t know where I’m goin’ from this and she looks at me with those brown, always smirking eyes. I say, how’s your family. She says they’re good, her baby brother’s just graduated from high school, her mom is still working at Wawa, her dad’s still in DC doin’ god knows that with god knows who. I compliment her home again and then her slicked back hair and her toothpaste colored robe. And then say but how’s your aunt though? She says did you ever even meet my aunt. And I say yeah we skyped that one time, don’t you remember? She asks when we met again, and I say it was right after they demoted Pluto from planet status. She looks at me and says her aunt died after that Janet Jackson boob grab. I say I must have been mistaken about the skyping thing. She looks all sad now, thinking about her dead aunt. Boy, I can take a girl from happy as fuck to total mess in under ten seconds. I’m trying to think of excuses to get out of there, when the buzzer rings. She doesn’t really move, she’s sayin’ something about alcoholism and her aunt’s old furniture, so I get up and let the guy in. He’s at the door right away, all excited for his booty call, a little confused to see me answering, but not necessarily put off by it. She’s kinda wailing now, and I take that as my cue to leave, as the other cheap lookin’ motherfucker’s grin slowly fades and the door closes behind me.

I stop by a McDonalds and pick up a McMuffin and scare some pigeons in the park, tryin’ to remember if I forgot something at Dahlia’s place. For some reason I just keep thinkin’ I need to go back there, but I got my pocket whiskey and snakeskin wristbands with me. I laugh a bit thinkin’ how she’s still wearin’ that pony, but it kinda hurts when I laugh. I make myself move on. By five a.m., I’m outside Chinekwu’s place in the West Village, but I know that she’ll be awake. Early to bed, early to rise, makes a girlfriend, healthy, wealthy, and a total bitch at night when you’re just trying to do romantic shit, nah mean? This one is more of an ex than Dahlia. She’s had me military structured, bein’ in the places she wanted me, when she wanted me. She’d always go, “speak proper,” and hide my see-through lime bucket hats and canary velvet bombers when I was lookin’ for gig clothes. She also told her parents I was outta the Marines, which was supposed to “give me a free pass for not fitting in with adults well.” Yeah she was a prissy. But she liked to fuck to my music and I never asked her for anything moneywise, the way other guys did. I knew she was rich, but damn I can’t imagine how much this apartment cost. The windows are big and Lulumoms with their little dogs are already trekkin’ so I wait for her to come out. She has always and will always take a three mile run at 5:15 a.m. She gets outha door, long thick braids held together by some diamond band, cream jogging set and shoes, bright against her dark skin. Girl looks fire even this early. I head across the street and step in front of her where she’s stretching. She jumps back, hand on her chest, and says you frightened me; what are you doing here, Brendon? Oh yeah, and she also refused to call me Braxton; she had to change it to something more bougie.

I say something about being in the neighborhood because it is my favorite place to run. She inspects my outfit and gives me this ah-ah look, but then doesn’t try to lose me when she starts to run, and I’m there beside her. It’s been a while since I ran. I’m slender enough, but in the day time, I don’t got a hard thing on me. We’re just goin’ for it and turning past this Pick-a-Bagel when she goes don’t you still live in Philly and I’m like yeah technically but I’m always here for work. She doesn’t ask if I’m still a DJ because she knows whatever I do it’s not gonna impress her. She looks thinner and I ask her about that, but she says it’s just the stress. She’s beginning her first job in investment banking and she never has time to herself, her daddy’s so proud, but she’s not havin’ fun. I think back to the moments when she’d cave and light with me, crawl into my bed weak and giggling, her fuckass AP homework under my bed. Then she transferred to private and I continued doin’ me.

We run and talk about her job and her little dog and what people we both knew were doing now, then she seems to be thinkin’ about those times too, because she slows down then stops and looks up at me, straight in the eye. She says I missed you, I’m sorry we had different priorities. Everything is kinda still and honestly she looks beautiful, but I don’t know how to take this moment and transition it into something about her aunt, so I just blurt out, let’s go to Atlanta together. She stands there kinda still and says wait what. And I explain I have a show in two weeks, and inside I’m hopin’ that she will offer her aunt’s place, but she just says I can’t. And then says I hate booking hotels last minute, because you can’t get the specific shit you want for the rooms and shit. I say what if you stay with someone you know who lives there. And she I don’t know anyone there. Fuck. So I shake my head sadly like it’s too bad, and honestly I am feelin’ a little shitty. I decide it’s probably just the McMuffin I ate earlier. I look at her and she looks at me and I don’t know what to do, so I fake a phone call with my manager and head out like I’m just too busy. She kinda just stands there by a pile of garbage near the sewer and watches me run away for a work emergency.

So I head over to the nearest Dunkin and look through my phone tryna contact a bunch of girls that I used to hit up. It seems most everyone is deleting their social media or unfriending people. Some of them have babies. I hardly have anyone’s number anymore. And some of these girls definitely are not in contact with their fam these days. I’m tryna think which of them I can even approach. Then I’m reminded of Andi. And my heart kinda sinks. Because I remember she for sure has an aunt. And I remember her aunt works for an airline with houses all over the country. Fuck. But I have to go ask. I know where Andi is. She works at NYU, the Jewish-Korean school where rich kids pay money to make art they could just do for free. She always said back in Philly that she wouldn’t work for any rich kids in her life, no sir. She’d get a rich man in bed and rob him of his money. She didn’t do that to me. But she did take one of my keyboards and destroy it when I said howyadoin to some worker at Bob and Barbara’s. She was one scary broad. Would storm into the Mutter in leather, pissed off, breaking skulls scary.

But I make my way over and sure as shit, she comes at seven to the arts building where she works at a desk or something. And I’m standin’ there. I’m scared she’s gonna punch me. But she smiles. What. Andi looks down at me, all six-and-a-half feet of blonde, broad shouldered female, and I scoot my speckled trainers around a bit, unable to maintain her gaze. She lunges and grabs me, squeezing me. I missed yewwwww! She lets me down, and I crumple a bit and then kinda smile. She’s wearing flowers in her hair and a pink floral shirt and she tells me she likes my outfit. I’m feelin’ like a champ and she sneaks me in past some guard and asks what I’m doin’ here. I say that I just wanted to see her. That I missed her spunk. I’ve been a bit less spunky, she says, she’s been seeing a therapist, and working on her anger. She’s been painting. She’s been singing. She doesn’t smoke or drink, and her step dad meets her for sushi sometimes. Andi’s glowing, and I’m happy for her. Her words are bubbly and she’s nothing brutish and confrontational like I remember. And I feel good enough to tell her the exact situation. Hey Andi, I’ve got a gig in Atlanta comin’ up and I know that your aunt lives there and I was wondering if I could stay with her. And Andi’s smile starts fading. She says I wasn’t really here to see her. I just wanted something from her. Her hands are tightened up. And I’m shakin’ my head like nah, it was both, hasn’t she seen those movies where people want multiple things, it’s not like that. But she says to go before she throws the stapler at my tiny pea sized head.

And I walk out of that fancy ass white building, tiny pea sized head held high, kinda wishing I’d stayed. I mean she has terrible aim. And she looks kinda funny when she’s doin’ it. She’s thrown all sortsa shit at my head before. Cell phones. Car keys. Fryin’ pans. And they usually hit the wall and left a little dent. She’d find me a day later and finally admit she was sorry, but that I was still a dick. And then we’d see a movie and make out. But I’m gone. Cause Andi’s in New York now with some serious job, and $14 is way too much for a movie.

At the end of the day, I’m outta luck. With no money. And a gig in Atlanta. And no where to stay. And I’m kinda creepin’ around the Village when I get a call from Liza and she sounds all quiet and slow. And I’m like what Liza. And she says Brax, I’m sorry, but they found a larger act to replace yours, one that will draw in more people. And really the music business is all about money. And that I shouldn’t worry, I’m young enough. And I hang up sorta near the end of this speech and sit on some steps by a Starbucks and watch Dahlias and Chinekwus and Andis run into and outta the train, all with someplace to be right away. They don’t notice me lookin’ at them, even though I’m wearing bright colors. They just hold their spendy lattes and briefcases and laptops and race off, all dressed up, eyes determined. I play a little beat on my thigh and listen to some South African EDM on my iPod and let the sun set while I get a little hungry. I try to think about what my next step is. I don’t even move when it’s dark.