🌃🍎 “The End” (from BRONX NIGHTS) 🌃🍎

 

 

Note: Authors don’t usually publish their final chapter first, but this is a unique situation—and book. And, well, today marks the one-year anniversary of me moving to New York City to find a cure for Long-Term COVID. So, seems somehow fitting. Trust me, what you don’t get here at the end will become apparent when you read the rest—speaking of which, I had better get busy writing.

 

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There was a Roman number section “I” at the beginning of this book. It was titled: “South of the Border.” And so this entire time you’ve been waiting for “Section II” to show up, and when it does, it’s the bloody end of the book. There’re only a few pages left!

 

I assure you this is not a gimmick. Because I’m writing this final chapter precisely one year to the day that I moved to New York City, to this historically curious neighborhood of The Bronx, Mott Haven—sounds like a Star Wars planetoid—and, well, it certainly does feel like a bit of a section break for me.

 

True, I still have an entire book above to write, except I managed to get a general outline plus the preface, the cover art and text and even part of the first chapter in before the deadline.

 

I get that it’s an anniversary, but what’s the deadline?

 

Oh, the Return of Godzilla, of course. It’s right about now one year ago that I drove beneath his scaly ass and started this strange odyssey. I’m sitting here at my desk, sipping from a Fresca, sober as a clam after a good night of pretzeling rest, wondering what will happen.

 

There’s no point in trying to hide. Here I am, at my desk—sigh, maybe it’s not such a bad color, afterall. This is the eleventh book I’ve written at this desk. First one black. Goes a bit with the theme.

 

I just ran this joke by Jo-Jo, and it took her a minute to get it. Granted, she’s making a sandwich. It feels rather early in the morning to make a traditional sandwich, but that’s just kind of her.

 

(Later while proofing this, she got in my face and said, “Fuck you. I fucking love sandwiches!” But she was just playing.)

 

“Keep it?”

 

Jo-Jo runs the sink, “Definitely not! No—keep it.” The sink runs. “Hell, yeah, keep it.”

 

“Why were you thinking no at first?”

 

“I never really liked my name anyway. I need to start drinking more water.”

 

(Honest to God, while proofing this some more, Jo-Jo started coughing so badly that I almost had to call EMS. Now that would have pushed this manuscript over the edge to bestseller material.)

 

I turn. “I meant the joke. Your name is a fake name. In fact, you’re not even real. You’re just in my imagination.”

 

There she stands, empress of all, in that tattered green hoodie, leaning against the sink, with leopard slippers. “I know. I need mustard big time. Don’t put that in the book.”

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t. How’s the sandwich?”

 

The joke stays.

 

(But the word goes. We next had a discussion about my use of the descriptor “tattered” above. Jo-Jo reminded me that I had purchased the hoodie, and that it was still quite new. In fact, she really likes it a lot! Would I please consider a new adjective to describe it? Hmm. There’s probably a life lesson in there—not bad timing. Okay, it’s not tattered. But it is a hoodie. And it is green. And all of what she said about it is true. But for some reason, it was “tattered” in my head. Perhaps a bit like my memory these days.

 

The discussion continued. Jo-Jo asked why I set this final chapter “early in the morning,” when it’s really four in the afternoon the day before. I explained that when I sit down to finish this chapter tomorrow (which is now today), it really will be one year to the day that I moved to New York City.

 

She said, “But you said everything was real.”

 

“It is.”)

 

So, it’s been a while since I talked to the city. As you know, I’ve had a lot of other therapy lately.

 

Anyway, if Godzilla is going to show his (or her or their) ugly maw, then I might as well go up to the rooftop and get a nice view of them waking up from her wee nap. And maybe get a nice little chat in beforehand with the lady I’ve come to love so much. Her love is real.

 

This city. This motherfucking beautiful city.

 

THE END

 

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Arik Bjorn

March 30, 2025

 

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To follow Arik Bjorn on all his pages, please visit his LINKTR.EE 🔗.

 

To listen to Arik Bjorn read the “Preface” from his forthcoming book, “BRONX NIGHTS,” plus other chapters, visit his YouTube Page.

 

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