The Empty Warehouse

The warehouse in Queens where I would spend my workdays was nearly always empty. The distance would create more issues with me and Brenna, and with visitors few and far between, I’d spend the majority of my days overthinking my past, trying to figure out where I went wrong. Storm and I had stopped speaking at this point, and our text chain was filled with the drunken rants of a man upset at the world for not being a superstar. I knew I was wrong, but I couldn’t figure where I started going wrong. I remembered my time in the corner off of the old Purfek Storm Group headquarters on Wall Street, and how prominent of a position I held. Now in an empty warehouse, I chain-smoke cigarettes near the front entrance deep in thought. As the smoke from my cigarettes spiraled upwards, my thoughts wandered back to the beginning. I had always been ambitious, seeking out opportunities and pursuing my passions with relentless determination. From my Sunday Night Screenings at Gizzi’s in West Village to forming Morning View, my Incubus tribute band, I had never shied away from taking risks. But somewhere along the way, I had lost myself. I recalled the excitement of starting the Bud and Roach Show with Alonzo and the energy that pulsed through us as we worked together. The same could be said about forming Kal and King, the EDM duo with my cousin Cheez. We had chased our dreams with such fervor, and yet, here I was, feeling empty and directionless. I was always sure that I was on the verge of something great. As the cigarette smoke filled the air around me, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the choices I had made. I had taken risks, put in the hard work, but it seemed like I was constantly chasing something just beyond my reach. The warehouse, a cold and empty space, mirrored the state of my heart.

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