DEC

J.J. COLAGRANDE

BLAZEVOX[BOOKS] Buffalo, New York

Dec by J.J. Colagrande Copyright 2012 Published by BlazeVOX [books] All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the publishers written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews. Printed in the United States of America Interior design and typesetting by Geoffrey Gatza Front cover design by MarcPaperScissor Author picture by Ben Thacker First Edition ISBN: 978-1-60964-113-9 Library of Congress Control Number: 2012944194 BlazeVOX [books] 76 Inwood Place Buffalo, NY 14209 Editor@blazevox.org

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DEC

But we must work hard

CHAPTER 1 Chichi and the Stupendously Luxurious

In a condo off of West Ave., in the County of Miami-Dade, lived Dec, a young homegrown writer with an intense work ethic andwhat was rumored by many -- authentic talent. Only twenty-eight, Dec already held a Master of Fine Arts in Poetry, a M.A. in Screenwriting, a PhD in Fiction, as well as a B.S. in Bullshitting, and a M.B.A. in Business Administration, the latter from an earlier era in his life, a period he refers to as his nave years. The humble Dec only felt pride in three things, besides his talent and obvious budding success in Miami; these were his ultramodern four-bedroom sixty-eighth floor South Beach condo at The Stupendously Luxurious, a high rise on West Avenue; his brand new convertible sports car; and of course, his super-hot model girlfriend, Chichi [shee-shee]. Four years earlier, Dec purchased the half-a-million-dollar condo purely on speculation, with little money down. The deal closed solely off a strong credit rating hed rather justly achieved while in graduate school, a time when he sustained himself strictly off of student loans. These loans, in combination with an equity line of credit on the
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condo, ultimately culminated in a total debt slightly under a measly fourhundred-thousand dollars. But a little debt did not bother Dec, on the contrary, his literary and skillful prowess, and super-human intense work ethic, as it was so often proclaimed (by himself) would surely land him heaps of money and fame, especially in Miami. In a city rich with swagger, it was only a matter of time before Dec would earn the riches that so deservedly come attached to an intense work ethic and talent. Dec leased the brand new convertible sports car with the same hard-earned and justly received credit score of a young twentysomething in graduate school. The customized vehicle was unique to the market. It represented the first electric-hybrid-turbo-boostedconvertible. It had the groundbreaking ability to reach zero to sixty in three seconds while squeezing eighty-two miles out of a gallon. Plus, the car had an extremely obnoxious GPS system, voiced by Gilbert Gottfried. Exuding carbon emissions, as well as reducing dependence on foreign oil were issues more important to the writers super-hot model girlfriend, who often chewed his ear off about maintaining a minimal eco-footprint. Dec liked speed. Lets go, was indeed his catchphrase. He enjoyed zipping around the narrow and winding streets of South Beach, with Chichi [shee-shee] in shotgun. He didnt care where they went as long as they moved with tenacity. They often drove the lengthy two blocks from the condo to the culinary Mecca of Whole
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Foods where theyd peruse the aisles filling their cart with delectable organic cuisine. Chichi had a special diet, recommended and prescribed by her casting agent and personal friend at Wilhelmina, mixing the best qualities of spicy veganism, raw food and Kentucky bluegrass. Chichi [shee-shee] was the apple of Decs eye. At the tender age of twenty, the luscious super-model had already graced the cover of numerous magazines, particularly in Latin American markets. Her Mestizo ethnicity (Irish, Kenyan, Filipino, Portuguese, and Australian Shepherd) as well as her tall, fit body absolutely turned heads everywhere they went. In his car, with Chichi [shee-shee] Dec loved roaring off the beach, across the Bay, zooming in and out of lanes, moving like the wind in a hurricane, to hit up their fancy athletic club on Brickell Avenue. They both engaged in strenuous workout routines incorporating a healthy balance of Zumba, Pilates, Kickboxing, Spinning, Yoga, Racquetball, P90X and Power Chess. Chichi [shee-shee] hailed from Corsica and spoke with a light French accent. The young maiden had an impeccable eye for fashion and with pleasure Dec drove her to any and all of the many malls in the County of Dade, that is when he wasnt busy and hard at work being hard at work and busy. For a Miami-minute (sixteen months), the young couple was the toast of the town. They were A-listed at every major art gallery opening, magazine sponsored fashion show, corporate-organized charity gala;
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they were regulars at all the hotel bars and clubs along the Drives and Avenues of South Beach. They ventured on the town nightly networking, mingling, with complimentary drinks in hand, lost in the glitter and swag; of course this lavishness occurred only when Dec wasnt engaged in his constant engagement of being creative. Then, in a fit of dramatic and pathetic irony, in a scene Dec could not have written with all his formal education, the walls came-atumbling down. Apparently, the young professional was not aware of his adjustable rate mortgage which suddenly popped from 3.2 percent to 17.9 percent. It caused an increase in his mortgage payments of almost five thousand dollars per month. Soon Dec was unable to pay the bills and his beloved electric-hybrid-turbo-boosted-obnoxious-convertible became possessed. Without an eco-friendly car Chichi [shee-shee] found minimal use for Dec; he could no longer drive her to the many malls in the County of Dade. Eventually his beloved penthouse condo at The Stupendously Luxurious fell into foreclosure, and his super-hot model girlfriend found a new man to drive her around. The experience was so humiliating Dec had to move to the neighboring village of Wynwood...

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CHAPTER 2 W yn-or-lose-wood, M oustache Rides and DuPont

Living in Wynwood was not easy for Dec. He resided on the ground floor for the first time since living in Miami, renting a small studio space in the back of an art gallery (The Montenegro-DuranRodriguez-De-la-Garcia-Suarez-Rosenberg Collection). Gone were the basic condo amenities that were supposed to come with the city, such as central air-conditioning, flat screen televisions, doormen, a concierge, multiple in-house restaurants, jacuzzis, steam rooms, and of course an elevated view of the ocean. In its place, for Dec, now were cockroaches, homeless men of color and destitution, as well as diseased chickens, stray dogs and cats, and worst of all, the neighborhood was completely over-run by a type of cretin Dec had only heard about but never encountered in the safety net of his high-rise condo: hipsters. Hipsters loomed everywhere. They invaded Wynwood, pushing the most destitute and handicapped homeless person even further west into the citys dark and lonely streets. These skinny barbarians raided the neighborhood on bicycles, twirling long moustaches. They wore jeans so short their genitals were known to flap in the wind; in addition, their flannel shirts sometimes doubled as picnic blankets in public spaces.
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These hipsters opened location after location of hipster haven; galleries and studios and working lofts and hair salons and co-operatives and faux-universities and coffee shops and independent movie houses where they all drank PBR and plotted how they alone would define and shape the current Zeitgeist of all that which is art, film, music, theater and literature too. These hipsters came in the form of painters, welders, visual artists, poets, filmmakers, comedians, record shop owners, musicians and seamstresses. And these hipsters were mean. They rejected Decs attempts at introduction with a haughty Hmph! and a sharp roll of the eye and worst of all always a twirl of their moustaches. Dec did not understand why the hipsters should reject him. Did he not work hard? Did he not know a thing or two about the affairs of art and culture? Was it because he came from the beach? Was it because he looked different and shaved and wore nice designer clothes? Even the hipsters in the very gallery he lived behind, The MontenegroDuran-Rodriguez-De-la-Garcia-Suarez-Rosenberg Collection, had no love for Dec, and it depressed him to the hilt. Dec would often sit in a chair, outside, under a banyan tree, and stare into the tropical night. From a distance he could see his old condo building and he sometimes stared so hard he tried to imagine his exact unit and past life. He missed Chichi [shee-shee] and his wonderful car and the beach. He wouldve

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composed a novel or at least a screenplay about the whole affair, but instead at night he took to smoking cigarettes and drinking mojitos. If it werent for his mentor DuPont, who knows? DuPont was a creative writing professor and one of the hardest working men Dec knew. The earnest DuPont was not only a working novelist but one of the best-read scholars and academics of his time. DuPont composed novels, short stories, screenplays and countless texts while simultaneously judging Fiction contests, conducting numerous writing workshops, reviewing the latest publications, and overseeing the theses of several graduate advisees. DuPont was of French-Canadian descent, originally hailing from Massachusetts - - he was considered one of the best Southern writers of his generation. Fortunately for Dec, DuPont took a liking to the young writer perhaps DuPont empathized with Decs $400,000 student loan debt and felt a moral obligation to keep in touch; nonetheless, DuPonts work ethic and accessibility were assets Dec admired and depended on -- and he often texted DuPont, for advice. As busy as ever, DuPont never ignored his young protg. When Dec complained about losing his South Beach life, DuPont responded: The end of one chapter leads to the start of another. Filled with self-loathing, Dec hopelessly wondered what came next. DuPont tried to comfort him: A writer embarks on every task

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knowing not what to do. Character is destiny. After every text DuPont concluded with the same epilogue, without fail: Work hard.

***

DuPont was always too busy working to tell young Dec any of this in person, but if needed, the role model resided only a text away. And DuPonts guidance did indeed cheer Dec up, for Dec intuited things would improve, and they did, when least expected. It was at this time someone at The Montenegro-Duran-Rodriguez-De-la-GarciaSuarez-Rosenberg Collection learned of Decs Master of Fine Arts in Poetry, and with the craft particularly in vogue, instantaneously Dec was welcomed with open arms by the legion of hipsters in Wynwood.

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