March 2018

March 2018 was deep in the golden era.

The last few months living in an illegal basement apartment in Ridgewood, & every day started the same way; emerging with my heavy cart, one step at a time, like I was climbing out of the underworld just to go earn the day. I’d roll it into the Halsey Street station & head straight for my subway platform office; the place where I built my name in real time, in front of real people.

I wasn’t just selling down there; I was creating down there. I would draw while I sold; truly multitasking; sketchbook open, eyes up. I kept my intuition close at all times; head on a swivel while sketching new ideas, watching the crowd, reading energy, making sure the hustle stayed peaceful & protected.

After a long day on the platform, I’d come back to the neighborhood & keep going. I would sell inside the bodega at night, turning the corner store into a second storefront. Haroon, a Yemeni man I endearingly called King (he called me King too), would let me set up inside & work late after my shift. I’d load up on goods in there, recharge, talk life, & keep building. I would also help him upsell his products. The vibes were immaculate. 

I was also drinking kombucha in copious amounts back then; not sure how healthy that was; but these were the days. The grind had a heartbeat. The city felt raw & full of possibility. March 2018 was pure hustle; pure creation; pure New York.