What is going on? What am I doing? It’s the last Monday in April, this 2026. I am back at my desk, four days this week, Wednesday at the big fruit stand. It’s making me nervous as it always does. When I am there I am fine, it’s getting there that is the problem. Stage fright. For me, it’s about getting to the stage, once I am on the stage, I am fine. It’s the roadblocks and obstacles that mess me up.

It was a very good weekend. Mike was there for his second weekend. It went so well, it felt like it was more than 2 days. At least, that is how I feel on today, Monday. Very comfortable, cuddly. No longer stressed by his phone addiction, especially when he pointed out my own computer addiction. I keep my mouth shut and so does he.

He is a character though. 11.6 thousand followers on Twitter X. Who knows how many lovers he has? He has his beloved who is scheduled for a weekend visit. This might be the weekend that I actually meet this bloke. Since Mike calls me ‘Dad’ and he also calls Bill ‘Dad’, his beloved calls me Dad and I, in turn, call him ‘son-in-law’.

I know Mike has a few side pieces, and he should, I guess. He’s handsome with a truckload of ‘admirers’. That is what he likes to call his followers. They’re not fans but admirers.

I find it hard to believe that 20 years ago I fell into the glue trap that was known as Wolff Olins. It might still be known as Wolff Olins, though I called it McMann and Tate, an homage to Darren Stephens company in Bewitched.

My time at Putnam Lovell NBF aka Wanker Banker was fast coming to a halt. In 2004 was flying high, in 2005 I was crashing and burning. They wanted me out, so much so they gave Christina Miro, my assistant a larger holiday bonus than I received. I bellyached, and some coworkers felt awful about it and took up a collection that I did not refuse.

Then John Griff, a not so éminence grise made sure no one discussed their bonuses after the fact. A little too late for that. I saw the writing on the wall and took a job in Soho above the SOB’s nightclub. I interviewed with an Airy Ann Sabotuna and she soon revealed herself to be a nightmare. I lasted until the end of the year before jumping ship to Legend Staffing which turned out to be a lackluster move at best.

Then the late Bill Carson found me and hired me to be the office manager for BIO-IB, which was soon to crash and burn due to Ashisht Singhrjaka’s decisions and making enemies and attracting lawsuits. The market crash in 2008 put an end to all that, and I was back on the street in 2009 winding up at the cigar shack, Davidoff in the Time Warner Mall at Columbus Circle.

And that too ended badly since Mickey Herkloz told Kelvin Thweat about the tales I had been telling out of the store. Changing names didn’t help matters since anyone who had a clue could easily decipher my not so obtuse renderings.

Credit to Herkz for figuring it out and honorable mention to Kevin Thweat, who emailed the missing Temple Brandin Graham about this here blog, only Kevin emailed me and not Temple Brandin Graham. Drunken emails are hardly ever a good idea, especially if you’re trying to give a heads up about someone about to lose their job and email the same person who’s about to lose their job.

I have been here a little over 3 hours at the fruit stand, and I swear I have been here for about eight hours. It just feels that way. Fridays are generally slow, and today, being a Friday, lives up to that slowness. Bill is way down south, Mike is in my apartment, probably shooting videos or taking pictures.

It is a sunny day, which is an unusual occurrence lately. It’s been cold and damn the past week or so. Some days it’s cold, some days it’s damp. It’s the last Friday of the month of April in 2026. Yancy usually has a neeting scheduled at the main fruit stand but he mentioned on Wednesday he was thinking about cancelling it this month, and I asked him about it yesterday, and it served as a reminder to cancel said meeting.

For the past few months I have used the meeting to my advantage and getting a little more sleep in the morning since the meeting don’t start until 9 AM. That means I would leave my apartment at 8 AM instead of 7 AM. But my sanity was more important this week and after yesterday’s conscientious fiasco it was all for the best.

This weekend seems to be promised as a bit of a downer. Saturday is supposed to be a rainy day all day. And Sunday is supposed to be a bit colder than usual. Bill should be back on Wednesday though he says Tuesday I think I know better. He would be hesitant to agree but where Bill is good with being on the road and following a schedule, when it comes to me there is no schedule for Bill. He does what he does and I take his predicvtions with a grain of salt.

It is now almost 4 hours that I have been here and it feels like it is time to go home but I am getting ahead of myself by about 5 hours. Maybe 4 hours since I do intend on taking my lunch hour.

The lunch hour has passed. I am back at the ‘oh so quiet ‘ desk. I finally got in touch with Mike. He claimed to be napping which might make sense since he was up until 3:30 AM doing whatever it is that he does.

Videos, photos, men from around the world. I suppose he can’t resist the eyeballs on his profiles, his cigar smoking videos and of course that cock of his.
I fear that he might be getting used to not working and he’s going to have to get a job. It was difficult last year getting him a job or at least an interview. So, I am hesitant this year.

I was hoping to finish writing this on the tablet but I cannot so I am doing this on my phone. It is so quiet here; it is so slow nothing is happening. Generally it’s okay, sometimes it’s unnerving, and right now it’s a little bit unnerving.

Presently I am listening to a podcast called “off the record – on the charts” which features Joe Mardin, Adam Dorn, and Dana Dowd, the children of Arif Mardin, Joel Dorn and Tom Dowd. Right now they’re interviewing Paul Wexler, son of Jerry.

Legendary Atlantic Records producers. I’m fascinated by what I am hearing, especially since the producer fathers are no longer with us.

Around the corner from the fruit stand is a Catholic boys high school. I see a few boys riding the PATH train from Hoboken in the morning. I suppose there are boys from Jersey City as well. I looked up the yearly tuition for this Catholic high school and it’s $26000.00. 46 years ago the tuition for Paramus Catholic was $1000.00. I know this because of my father yelling at me as he hit me regarding a bad report card.