My two friends

My friend Jack is a cocaine user and he makes roughly 25K a year, doing temp work and various other jobs to "pay the bills".  He could die in the coming months, either through an overdose, or because he's traveling to some bad places soon.  But he says he doesn't care and in classic Jack fashion, he is plunging headlong into his depression.  I hope he talks to me about his problems, but he says he'll be all right.

My friend Colin is a professional guy in his late twenties about to close on his first mortgage.  He is about to become VP at his investment bank, pulling in 200K a year.  He will be upgrading his 3 series BMW to something more relevant to his social position. He has no time to worry about what or how he is feeling.  But we have a great time going to ball games together.

Jack comes and goes from relationships easily; he leaves a trail of empty husks, sucking all emotions and happiness from the girls he has met.  They adore him.  They see beyond his fickleness, because they can only see his potential warmth and the fact that when they are with him, he makes them feel like they're the only person in the world.  He loves them truly.  Then he forgets that he loves.  He only remembers himself in the darkness.

Colin goes to work from 7 am to 10 pm each night.  This is a big improvement from his early associate days where he would work from 9 am to 4 am every day.  He has a spare suit at the office and he eats lunch and dinner at his desk.  Occasionally, he likes to get up and walk to the analysts to chit chat, puncturing his days with banter to dissolve the robotic characteristics that have invaded his life.  He goes home and catches SportsCenter each night before going to sleep.  He lives on the 21st floor of a condomium in Mahattan, but he almost never sees the glowering skyline at night because he is usually in bed right away when he gets home.

Jack lives with 4 other people, 2 guys and 1 girl, in a shared walkup in Queens.  He has a railroad room, but he's never there, because he's either at the bar around the corner, working, or trying to jumpstart his writing career.  Some of his money goes to the rent, but some of it goes to satisfy his coke addiction.  He writes freely when the drug courses through his veins, and he sees all the words, the dreams the fears and the hopes, raining down from a bright deep gash in the skies.

Colin is planning to get furniture for his new apt. This weekend.

Jack hasn't thought that far ahead, but he wants to get away from the city for a little bit.  Maybe he'll hitchike north, to Montreal, anything to reduce the predictability in his life.

Colin likes to pick up pretty girls at the bars he frequents. He likes the Meatpacking district.  And he likes it when girls show off their legs.  He is an "ass" guy, and he'll only talk to pretty girls.  They like talking to him because he buys them (and their friends) drinks.  Often times there's a nice dinner in store for them.  But Colin is afraid that the girls only like him for his wallet.

Jack is trying to be alone , but sometimes his hunger for all the girls who are loving him is so strong, he can't help but feel pity for them.  They adore him.  One day, however, he knows that they'll see past the romanticism and realize they want kids, they want a home, and they want to be in the suburbs.  It's something he can't supply them.

Colin hates to share.  He loves independence and the fact that his individual grit has brought him so much.  He demands much from his friends.  He's fun to hang with, but boring to talk to.

Jack shares everything. Even the clothes on his back and his room.  He's living with a down and out college buddy from North Carolina.  He doesn't demand much, so he doesn't get a lot.  He's fun to hang with and talk with when he isn't depressed.

Colin knows exactly where he wants to be in five years.

Jack also knows where he wants to be in five years.  I don't think he'll make it there in once piece.

When I am old, at an age where looking back on time is a safer bet than trying to keep up with time, I'll remember Colin and Jack.  I hope they're both happy with their lives by then.