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 This is the last installment of 3 to introduce myself to you. If you are coming from the former home at blogger I thank you for following along with me. If you just found me  welcome aboard.

Who is Johnny part III?

first published on 20 January 2015

I think this will be the last installment, for the time being, there are gaps to be filled in but now is not the time.


While my hand healed my life deteriorated. I could not pull off doing any type of work to the warehouse or inside the warehouse because Workman’s Compensation investigators were posted at each entrance of my building. I even had one run with me at Planet fitness every morning at 4 am. Now that is either dedication to the job or the poor bastard, was like me and he didn’t have a life, also.

No money coming in and what little money I had going out trying to pay the bills.  I was lucky that the mayor had a contract drawn up relieving me from having to pay property taxes until I had a Certificate of Occupancy.  Utica-city would then have my building re-assessed for new taxes.

Still, the bills kept coming in and piling up. I was losing this battle. I was horrible at managing money. I had lived above my means for too long. The end was near.

I made it back to work and jumped right into working 18 hour days. It still was not enough. I could not get enough money coming in to pay my bills. I thought I had a couple of friends renting the retail space in the building that would serve as a cafe. They turned out to be sneakier than Genesis’ snake. They wanted my building from the start. She felt they deserved it, after all, Utica and all of the residents living there owed her so much, ha! She had lost a previous cafe and I like many others believed she was the victim in the closing of this establishment. We were all bamboozled! I should have listened to everyone I had talked to about The Cafe and my building had warned me about them. They all said don’t let them open up. They will find a way to screw you over.

They did. They told the new mayor about my contract and relief from paying taxes. One day I hear a staple gun slapping its reverberating clack, clack, clack against the building. I go out to see what is happening. I see a sign stapled to the building stating that we had to vacate. Along with the sign is a sealed envelope with a tax bill for 98,000.00+ dollars due in full upon receipt. After numerous phone calls and screaming matches, I am allowed a month to try and raise the funds. A month turns into 90 days, in which during that time, my van is stolen back from me by the bank who owned it with all of my tools in it. At this point, I realize I am finished. I am eventually dragged off of the property with no possessions of my own except a small day pack of dirty clothes.

The new owners get my building for 55,000. They are allowed to make payments from the rent they collect.Why was this deal not offered to me, UTICA? WHY WHY WHY BUT WHY? I don’t really care any longer. The new owners of 1105 Lincoln Ave and /or 1104 Hart St, in Utica NY, are lower than snakes, ruthless and underhanded, evil and more sinister than Snidely Whiplash!!!!

I am now homeless. There was hope, though.  Not everything was lost. I had a not burned all bridges and I did not want to stay in this world I grew up in.

My now best friend, my lover if straight, my wife without benefits (it is amazing how much sex really complicates things). We have never shared each other’s beds sexually, but I cannot say that there have not been moments of romance or intimacy shared between us. We fight and makeup like husband and wife. We are able to feel each other’s hurt, fear, insecurity, joy, happiness, and despair even when we are four hours apart from each other.

I decided to head to NYC. A methadone maintenance program would be easier to enroll in and I could go to graduate school at the same time.

Once again, unexpectedly the giant doors of life slammed down upon me.  Their thunderous echo and slam were becoming as common a sound to my ears as that of the constant yells of shoe shine peddlers on Broadway, “Shine ‘em up!” I was not allowed enough money to keep my dorm room and pay for tuition in the fall.  I withdrew from school.

Once again I feared what was next for me. Going back upstate would only cause tension between myself and whomever I chose to be around. I was still so negative.

I chose to stay in NYC: homeless and alone; hungry and cold. I found myself at 100 Broadway in downtown Manhattan, begging, panhandling, flying a sign, Homeless and Alone; Hungry and Cold, climbing from the ashes. I am still climbing. Life is good today, even with the tons of bad news I received today.

I am going to stop here with the background to my story. There are many gaps and spaces to be filled, and  I will fill them in from time to time.

But for now I would like to say:

Some of the topics I will choose to write about will be heavy and sometimes depressing, I will try to keep the feel light and humorous, a dark humor. Nonetheless, the topics might raise concern, depression, grief, and a slew of other cruddy emotions, but I will approach from a platform that hopefully allows people to not leave the page feeling emotionally spent.  It’s life ya know, but it will not always be so gloomy cause I have learned over the past few years that when I open my eyes I see past the gloom that it is just in front of my face.