Sometimes, you know someone for years and know nothing.

Other times, you know it all in one night.

The night when the world is in bed. And only you and your friend still have enough energy to sidestep sleep.

We were still going on about another evening at the illustrious Ibiza discos. The conversation was winding down from the excitement of the club’s lasers, lookers, and loons. And when it arrived at the ground floor, we hit the basement button.

Family origins, embarrassing stories, unpalatable medical conditions.

We talked about our friends. Our inspirations. Our biggest confrontations and biggest regrets.

“I visited a psychiatrist, ” my friend said, “to get drugs for partying. Xanax, Ativan, you name it…. I also wanted to see if the anti-depressants worked.”

And the night evaporated into a vibrant blue sky.

It was 11AM. My mind rang restlessly, but my heart heard a comfort...

The most frightening man I know is a doctor.

His name is Dr. Grommit. And he heads a group of physicians I’ve been trying to join for several years. A closed, elite group.

The Boy’s club.

And it’s taken me years to get to this point because there’s been a hulking and imposing boulder in my path. The rock, not surprisingly, has a name.

Dr. Grommit.

He’s the unspoken authority of Tony Soprano mixed with the callous ferocity of Suge Knight. Simply said, a terror.

Last night was my opportunity to speak with him. Dressed in my Vegas suite with boldness brimming, Dr. Grommit pulled off the lid and blew my confidence asunder.

“Hello, Dr. Grommit just wanted to say–”

“Sit down. Let’s talk.”

My heart drops. Sit? I want to bolt. He pulls a chair for me to sizzle.

Grabbing my knee, he says, “have you done work with the guys?”

“Yes. I’ve been able to shadow Dr. Roberts.”

“Who?” He...

After the nightclub, we returned back to the AirBnB to recount the night’s events. This portion of our trip, as we later would learn, would become the social glue that kept us forever bound.

Tim pulls out his camera, “Take a look of the shots from tonight.”

We look.

“Oh snap, she looks good–”

“Good? Fuckin’ understatement. Hawwt!”

Scrolling through the pictures.

“This is one has all of us.”

I squint. There’s a contemplative pause.

“Dude, I look so weird in this photo.”

“Let me see. Yeah, holy shit, me too.”

“Where are you?”

“Right there!”

My eyes scan the picture. Tim’s not in the photo. But there’s me, looking tanner than a hot dog. I also seem thinner and younger. And then there’s someone I don’t recognize, an odd Asian guy at the end of the couch. His hair is whipped back. Mouth half open like he’s seducing the photographer.

“Who’s that?”

“That’s me!”

“What?!”

We...

The first night in Ibiza, I gathered more numbers than I had in my entire life.

Not one girl returned my text.

The second night in Ibiza, I gathered more girls’ numbers than the first.

I didn’t text a single one.

The third night in Ibiza, I determined, “Fuck numbers. I’m not here to play reality. I’m here to make magic.”

Green. Brown. Blue eyes.

Her skin was porcelain white. Golden bronze. Creamy vanilla.

Naturally, she was German. Puerto Rican. American.

And it was only when getting close did I fall in love with her aquamarine eyes. Buttery lips. Supple tush.

Ibiza.

A town, an island, a world.

Where magic manifests reality and truth is a lie’s best friend.

Ibiza’s face is blank. I paint my expression onto it. Right now, I’m feeling randy. Back there, I’m feeling contemplative. And over here, I’m feeling blessed.

Above all else, I feel. From my bones to my skin. Everything pulses, pumps, and pushes.

Ibiza, I feel you.

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“When he issued the Emancipation Proclamation, Daniel-Day Lewis announced that black men would be–”

Bob, check this out. The Gutentron made a boo-boo.

A what?

It fucked up.

Impossible. The Gutentron contains 300 million original texts. From Mesopotamia’s Code of Ur-Nammu to Schrödinger’s manuscripts on matrix mechanics. De facto, the world’s knowledge.

See for yourself.

Sweet Jesus… Daniel Day-Lewis?

I think he played Lincoln in that Spielberg flick.

Incredible. The Gutentron is the premier source of scholarship. Circulating billions of bytes around the globe.

Yeah and it fucked up. Don’t freak, man. I'lI fix it.

It’s not a toy, Jimmy. It uses an algorithm that can predict when a pigeon shits in the air. You don’t tell it what to do.

Then why are we here?

To ensure that the machine keeps running. To dust the screen, clean the...

The air was warm. Light fluttered through the blinds.

The neighbors’ kids were skipping in the street. Hollering. Chuckling. Their elation trickled between our conversations. The soundtrack of our Sunday afternoons.

Sitting with bellies on the bed, we played cards in my bedroom. A weekly tradition.

Biting her bottom lip, she moves her gaze between her hand and the played cards. Wiggling her nose. Elevating her eyebrows. She glances at me. She’s confident.

My turn.

She grips her cards, keeping her secrets safe. She wants to win. I want to win. It’s how we loved. Friend or foe. No holding back.

She wins again. It’s getting late. We say goodbye, just like before. Yet long after we part ways, this farewell echoes in my minds chambers.

During our embrace, I note the softness in her eyes. The glow of the sun fills the outlines of her smile. Even then, it felt special. Like I had...

He wore windshield glasses. Grew Krusty the Clown hair. And grinned with four-and-a-half

teef.

He was born in Honduras. Never spoke Spanish.

I’m black. From nuthin.‘

Had a daughter. Yet no family.

I ain’t like you white people.

Smelled of funk. Venice Beach restrooms take cover.

Did err-drug you can imagine. Imagine it. I did it.

To Nintendo fans, he’s the black Dr Wiley. Diabolical.

Quit when I found the Lord. Now I smoke cigarrrrettesss.

I’m glad I met him.

The truth is you can never appreciate what you got. It’s never

enough.

get in the way of a good story.