Might Quit Tomorrow
Eleven things live on the internet. Two months of runway. Eight weeks is not a long time. Eight weeks is a very long time if I don't have to wash glassware for seven of them.
A living document of what the city does to a person who shows up with nothing but intent. No polish. No performance. Written mostly late at night, on the train home.
Eleven things live on the internet. Two months of runway. Eight weeks is not a long time. Eight weeks is a very long time if I don't have to wash glassware for seven of them.
The shift tonight ran long. I got home at 4:20 AM and did not build a single thing the next day. It was the first time since I arrived.
$1,850 on the first. I can count the hours from here. This is what the hustle actually looks like — arithmetic under fluorescent light.
What nobody tells you about starting from zero in New York City.
A poker hand is a superposition. I wanted to see if I could feel the cloud. Turns out poker and living here use the same mind.
I built ShiftAI for bartenders. For three weeks I forgot to use it on myself. The week I did, I got a shift.
There is a version of my life where I'm in a classroom right now. It was a real choice. I picked the harder one.
No response. No no-thank-you. Just silence. New York doesn't reject you. It just doesn't notice you.
The first week I didn't have a plan so I walked. I was trying to get the blocks into my feet before the city had a use for me.
I came through customs with one suitcase and no plan. The city hadn't asked for me. That wasn't going to stop me.