I’ll shine when it shines…Darrell Shines
I met Darrell Shines in the mid 1990s. I was working at Right Track Recording, and Darrell was working for a cartage company, Rock-It Cargo. Darrell was incredibly handsome, with a beautiful smile and charming as all get out. I was instantly smitten. I wasn’t seeing anyone, and Darrell would have been fun to play with, but he was as straight as Six o’clock. We were fast friends. We met up for various shows at Summerstage, just hanging out in Central Park. We’d smoke weed and generally have a good time.

Darrell seemed to like hanging out with me as much as I liked hanging out with him. I’d go out to his crib in Jamaica, Queens. It was the last stop on the subway, and after a few hours of smoking joints, I’d crash on his couch. Eventually, Darrell was evicted from his loft in Jamaica, and he asked or I offered my couch. We were friends, and that was that. He was handsome but straight. Just another sexy, handsome straight guy that I was smitten with. Julio, Pedro, and now Darrell.

I figured he’d be on the couch for a week. William didn’t mind. Landlord’s children, Pattie & Fred, more than likely hated the idea. Darrell was black, and Pattie and Fred most definitely were not. And one week turned into two, looking at three. I’d leave for work in the morning, and Darrell would be on the couch all day. Not much looking for a new crib. I mentioned my dilemma with my landlord, and Darrell suggested ignoring them. Should I take rental advice from some guy who was just evicted from his loft for non-payment of rent?

I had to ask Darrell to leave. It was not pleasant. During his time on Jane Street, he met Layla, a young woman who lived in the neighborhood. They might have had a fling. A quick fling that ended with Darrell’s departure from Jane Street. He made it seem like his idea. He told me he had gotten Layla pregnant, and she was going to have an abortion, so he was going to leave town. I soon found out that Darrell had told Layla he was leaving since I had tried to rape him.

I explained to Layla that that was just not my style. In fact, it would be an entirely different scenario if you catch my drift. I told Layla what Darrell had told me about her impending abortion. Laya was aghast, telling me she loved children and would never have an abortion. We both deduced that Darrell played us both and skipped town.

But not before he was able to get Julio, through me, to use his space in his apartment building for storage. And he used Julio and his space for a few months before Julio was going to move out and needed to have Darrell move his stuff out. Once again, Darrell needed to hit the road with his cargo.

We still hung out a few times, once particular spot was a bar on the Lower East Side called bOb. Julio and I found it, and I soon Pedro onto it as well. One night, Darrel was there with Pedro and a mutual friend, Ray. Things were cozy until Pedro’s side piece showed up, which ruffled his feathers.
Words were said, Darrell tried to separate Pedro and the side piece, which made Pedro say something untoward, and he and Ray left. Darrell sat yelling about something that Pedro pulled a gun on him. I didn’t see that, and I’m not sure anyone else did, since no one else was saying anything about a gun.

Since I had known Pedro longer than I had known Darrell, I caught up on the street with Pedro and Ray and got a ride to the bus terminal. The next day, I asked Pedro if what Darrell had said was true. Pedro denied doing such a thing and was insulted by the suggestion. I believed him, though it was years later when it seemed there were times when he was in a pharmaceutical fog. So it may have been true.

I did look up Darrell on social medias and he was living in Europe, had two kids, I think. He’s popular in cultural activities with lots of friends.

Some are born every minute.

“If you don’t pull up, you cheated”, says the guy screaming down Sixth Avenue

Delta Dawn

I saw Marty Nathan on my way to work today. He was someone I worked with at All Saints Episcopal Day School from 2013 to 2014. I needed work, and the position appeared, and I had forgotten how much I disliked school. My prior experience was in front of the desk, and that time I was behind the desk. The students liked me. The parents liked me. The staff that I worked with and supported did not. I mainly felt the same way.

Nicole Kemp showed me the ropes while poisoning the well. I did my best, though. There was a flamboyant former USMC who asked me a few times which students I thought were gay. That was off-putting, and I couldn’t get away from the blonde leatherneck fast enough. Marty was alright, though. Like me, Marty got the gig thanks to the generosity of the brother of the head of school

I was thinking, though, that I saw Marty years ago and was full of happiness and my improved station in employment. I didn’t gloat, and I wasn’t jumping for joy. But it wasn’t a good fit for me. When they let me go, I expressed my relief, which caused the head of the school to leave the room as soon as she could. Looking at the faculty roster today, most everyone I worked with 13 years ago is no longer there. Looking at the faces of this new group, it’s hard to see which ones are backstabbers like 13 years ago.

Bill is heading out West today and then heading north. He drives me crazy on a bus, and then I miss him terribly until he returns to drive me crazy in a bus once again. I told Mike to come over tomorrow instead of tonight since I have a big day tomorrow and need a good night’s sleep. The meeting is at the main fruit stand at 9 AM, which could afford me an extra hour of sleep if I play my cards right.

The one formerly known as Lex Luthor is out this past week and probably next week as well. Marcus was a bit of a pain in the ass yesterday with regard to direct messages, and I always lead off with a harmless “Hello,” which he does not like.

That colored my view of him for the moment, which carried over to this morning. I was entering my hours for the week, and mainly a repetitive process, but he saw it as being aggressive and asked if we had smoke which we don’t. I should not help coworkers with their food orders.

Six hours left in the workday.

I just had a flash of recognition. Years ago, in 2013, working at Maxwell’s, a few months before All Saints Episcopal Day School. It certainly wasn’t the freewheeling time it used to be. And Todd, son of Abram, was envious of the friendship between RoDa and me. He also found out about this here blog and insisted that I was writing posts while working, and at that time I was all thumbs with regard to that. Now I am writing on my phone for posting later in the day.

Now I am home, not in the best spirits. I had to deal with the agency that placed me at the fruit stand. They want 5 goals for 2026. I hemmed and hawed and came up with 5 goals which they ‘liked,’ but they could not track any progress with those goals, so the goals had to go. I tried logging into the website as instructed, but could not use the correct password. I contacted their service desk, which replied that they created a ticket for my request but no one was coming forward with any solution.

Eventually, I was able to figure out a new password and continued into the depths of goal tending. I chatted online with someone who said they could help but could not. If I did not respond within a minute or so, they would ask if I was still there. If they did ot respond within minutes of my asking a question, that was alright.

The fruit stand likes me; the other fruit pickers like me. That is what the agency tells me. But that is not good enough. They’re asking a 63-year-old worker what their goals are and telling them that I just want to go to work, and come home safely at the end of the day, just is not good enough.