Craigslist orlando

Collectable figure: Penny Hardaway nba headliners 1996 figure Orlando magic
This figure box is beat up. This figure size is 3in x 2in x 1in. This figure is in nm condition from what I can see.
www.ebay.com/itm/125208789655
www.mercari.com/us/item/m60368922346
poshmark.com/listing/Penny-Hardaway-nba-headliners-1996-figure-orlando-magic-6233c2369f626a4af94b9171
saginaw.craigslist.org/clt/d/essexville-penny-hardaway-nba/7538820876.html
www.ebid.net/us/for-sale/penny-hardaway-nba-headliners-1996-figure-orlando-magic-210839848.htm
www.etsy.com/listing/1184650954/penny-hardaway-nba-headliners-1996

Greetings all, I've been interested in space for many years. Recently I've been wanting to take a more hands on approach. Since telescopes are cheaper than rockets, that seems to be the route to go. However I come from the photography world and as such have many questions. I am currently using this kenko lens2scope and an old manual focus 300mm f/2.8 lens (sometimes with 2x teleconverter for a 600 f/5.6). I was able to see and photograph with my phone Jupiter's Galilean moons, the Orion nebula, and the rings of Saturn, so of course I'm now hooked. I believe this setup basically gives me a 30x and 60x spotting scope equivalent. Does anyone know if the lens2scope would change the effective aperture, and if so, by how much? In other words, with the teleconverter on, am I seeing the same amount of light gathering as a f/5.6 telescope, more, less? Do the different eyepieces change the brightness on a telescope? If I have an f/5.6 telescope, and use a 10mm and a 30mm eyepiece, will the image be just as bright in both, changing only magnification, or would one be brighter and one darker? Would my current setup give me roughly the same view as a Heritage 130 tabletop with a 10mm eyepiece (listed as 650mm f/5)? If so, I figure I am probably looking at an 8 inch dob (probably AD8, Z8, or possibly explore scientific unless anyone has any other suggestions) as that seems like a reasonable step up. I live in a bortle 7 (orlando), but can get to a 4 fairly easily, and with some planning and a bit of a drive, a 3. I have a gti, so I don't think the size of the 8 inch will be a problem. I was also looking at the Costco 10inch truss tube by explore scientific as it's cheaper, and could be broken down for storage and transportation, but I've also heard it's a specific model made for costco and is different from the normal explore scientific 10inch truss tube. What are everyone's opinions on the costco 10inch vs one of the full tube 8inches listed above?
My only other real question, because I come from the photography world, and would like to eventually do some astrophotography (either with slr lenses or telescopes), I know dobs are often not recommended for astrophotography. Are there any scopes around the $700 price point that would be better suited for astrophotography and still an improvement from my current visual setup? I have a decent photo tripod, but I doubt it would be good enough for a large scope and tracker. So I would most likely need the scope, legs, and tracker. I've looked at the move shoot move, but I highly doubt it's powerful enough for the 300mm. I've also checked out the star adventurer which states it has a capacity of 11lbs. The lens by itself is almost 6lbs, so it's already above the 1/2 the weight limit rule, and I doubt a more powerful scope would be any lighter. Id really rather avoid spending $1500 on the HEQ5 if I can avoid it. If I find an old eq mount on craigslist or whatever, is there a relatively easy way to retrofit tracking to it?
Thanks to anyone who is able to answer my many questions, I look forward to learning more about the night skys and sharing this hobby with others.

Located in Orlando, FL near UCF.
Have:

• Steelcase Leap v2 office chairs. Some with 3D knit backs and vinyl seats, others with standard fabric upholstery. 4D arms. Everything works, used good condition. $200 each. Listed on Craigslist for $260 but I'll take $200 here. sold all standard fabric upholstery ones for asking price to kentqn and brickedpsu and ShallowBayXI
  
• Steelcase Leap v2 office chairs remaining: all have 3D knit backs, 2 with vinyl seats and 1 with 3D knit seat. $200 each. 1 remaining with 3d knit back and vinyl seat.
  
• Steelcase Amia office chairs. All black fabric. 4D arms. Everything works, used good condition. $80 each. Listed elsewhere for $140 but discounted here.
  
• Haworth Zody office chair. Leather seat, mesh back. Fully upgraded lumbar and pelvic support system, 4D adjustable arms. Used like new condition. $150. sold locally to facebook buyer
  
• Steelcase Leap v2 Plus, rated for 500 pounds, extra wide seat and extra wide backrest. $550.
  

Timestamps:
https://imgur.com/a/dVTD1Lq
Thanks for looking! Msg me with any questions.

If anyone is in the orlando area, I’ve got some miscellaneous stuff I’m willing to give away. Just don’t have the space or time anymore. Some kettles, carboys, hoses, copper immersion chiller, etc.
I’ve got a chest freezer and kegerator I’d be willing to sell. Chest freezer is decorated with tons of brewery stickers. Both work fine and have InkBirds, though I think one InkBird needs recalibrating.
Was going to Craigslist this stuff but you people have been so helpful in the past I figured I’d try offer it here first.
If interested let me know and I can send some photos of everything tomorrow.

Looking for a single speed or fixed gear commuter bike. Currently riding a old 90s stump jumper but I’ll be moving to an upstairs apartment and rather not lug up what feels like a 15 kg bike.
So far I’m thinking Fuji Feather or Priority Ace. Unfortunately nothing exists besides Walmart bikes and $3000 road bikes on Craigslist/FB marketplace in my area (Orlando, FL) I do have a Fuji dealer in my area.

Not using my timeshare this year. I currently can get a 2 bedroom / full kitchen washer and dryer in Orlando from 3/13 to 3/19 which is our Spring Break.
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1 bd king
1bd queen
2 sleeper sofas
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The timeshare has a pool/ jacuzzi/ fitness center
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I was thinking about selling it since I don't want to go I might sell it.
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Do you think $1500 is a fair price? that's $250 a night but can sleep up to 8.
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The kitchen alone could save a family tons with a crockpot.
I was going to list it on Craigslist but not sure what I should put on it for price. I do have to get a guest certificate so there is a time sensitive part.
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Never tried this before so just don't know what to expect. Anyone ever buy someone's week before? I know it happens

Good Afternoon Reddit. I'm in the beginning stages of making plans, looking things up, and making some mental financial decisions to move cross country from Orlando to Oregon, probably. I still haven't made up my mind, but it's looking like it. And I'm nowhere near ready to move, but in my early research, I've found that it can cost a pretty penny, obviously, to pay people to help me move cross country. But if I had my own car, which I don't right now, I could lighten the financial load.
My new job pays decently well, but not enough to go big on a car. I don't have good credit and am working on fixing that...... Anyways, all that just to say that I am looking for a decent car that can make the trek cross country and I've heard Toyota's are good for that. They last long and don't break down a lot if you take good care of them. Any model, except for aesthetic features, is fine. I'm not hooked on Toyota. Just the only one I know is pretty good.
I'm looking around and I see posts like these from dealers. Is this a good deal? Would I be better off finding one that offers in-house financing or should I lease? Or cheaper monthly options? I'd prefer to pay no more than $500/month. Anything else will put me in debt more so than I already am.
I'm also using sites like Cargurus, Cars.com, and AutoTrader. Just don't have any experience buying used cars. The last time I bought one I was r(ipped) off and don't want that again. The car lasted 6 months, barely drove it in the span, and died.
Any advice and help is appreciated.

Hello I want to create a job search app such as searches thru every major city for example I have a json list of major cities San Francisco, Orlando, Los Angeles .. ect So I would like to search all cities at once what's the best method for doing this?
https://{JSON}.craigslist.org/search/fbh

miami (sss)
miami (pet)
miami (pas)
daytona (sss)
daytona (pet)
daytona (pas)
keys (sss)
keys (pet)
keys (pas)
fortlauderdale (sss)
fortlauderdale (pet)
fortlauderdale (pas)
fortmyers (sss)
fortmyers (pet)
fortmyers (pas)
gainesville (sss)
gainesville (pet)
gainesville (pas)
cfl (sss)
cfl (pet)
cfl (pas)
jacksonville (sss)
jacksonville (pet)
jacksonville (pas)
lakeland (sss)
lakeland (pet)
lakeland (pas)
miami (sss)
miami (pet)
miami (pas)
lakecity (sss)
lakecity (pet)
lakecity (pas)
ocala (sss)
ocala (pet)
ocala (pas)
okaloosa (sss)
okaloosa (pet)
okaloosa (pas)
orlando (sss)
orlando (pet)
orlando (pas)
panamacity (sss)
panamacity (pet)
panamacity (pas)
pensacola (sss)
pensacola (pet)
pensacola (pas)
sarasota (sss)
sarasota (pet)
sarasota (pas)
miami (sss)
miami (pet)
miami (pas)
spacecoast (sss)
spacecoast (pet)
spacecoast (pas)
staugustine (sss)
staugustine (pet)
staugustine (pas)
tallahassee (sss)
tallahassee (pet)
tallahassee (pas)
tampa (sss)
tampa (pet)
tampa (pas)
treasure (sss)
treasure (pet)
treasure (pas)
miami (sss)
miami (pet)
miami (pas)

I was talking to an owner of a pet rescue and adoption center and she told me some very disturbing information which I hope can be useful and enlightening to Orlando pet owners and future pet owners.
She told me that people tend to use craigslist as an easy way to rehome pets or just sell them to people that nefariously act like they want a pet to take care of. approximately 70% of the people who buy or take custody of these pets for rehoming are using the pets for food for other pet animals like pythons and the lake. She also said that many of the dogs they used to train fighting dogs and sometimes use them to fight.
So I just want to pass that information onto you guys. Please don’t use craigslist to rehome or sell any kittens or pets. It’s just not worth the risk of having your sweet and caring pets killed or maimed in a terrifying way.

https://orlando.craigslist.org/lbs/d/orlando-move-with-mr-cools-today-stars/7541169114.html

This figure box is beat up. This figure size is 3in x 2in x 1in. This figure is in nm condition from what I can see.
www.ebay.com/itm/125208789655
www.mercari.com/us/item/m60368922346
poshmark.com/listing/Penny-Hardaway-nba-headliners-1996-figure-orlando-magic-6233c2369f626a4af94b9171
saginaw.craigslist.org/clt/d/essexville-penny-hardaway-nba/7538820876.html
www.ebid.net/us/for-sale/penny-hardaway-nba-headliners-1996-figure-orlando-magic-210839848.htm
www.etsy.com/listing/1184650954/penny-hardaway-nba-headliners-1996

New York isn’t for everybody. No one told me that when I was a kid. Twice a year, until I was sixteen, Mom would pack us up and drive from Orlando to New York City and we’d ride the trains, walk the silhouetted streets, buy cart food and dollar pizza, and drink more soda than we could afford. It was the two times a year we all agreed to be happy.
We’d spend the rest of the year playing a game of “remember when”; a desperate clutching for the delight of the midnight ball drop, and the rampant barbecues and fireworks of July 4th. Sometimes I wondered why we didn’t pick up and move there. Then we’d be happy all year round, instead of just for New Years and one week in July. But now, having lived in New York, I don’t think that would’ve worked, even if we could’ve afforded it. We were a family of unhappy dreamers, addicted to the effigies of our imagination, and resistant to the minor offerings of everyday life. If we’d moved to New York, we never would’ve seen her again.
I was the sucker who fell for it. At twenty-two-years-old, with a fancy degree in finance - that I’d gotten because of its associations with Wall Street and because I didn’t want my career to end, like Mom’s had, as the unlucky owner of a meager souvenir shop - I found a one-off craigslist job to drive a newly leased Toyota Rav-4 to New York and told Mom, Dora, Nancy, and Craig that I would see them on New Years.
They were so proud of me then. “I’m soooo jealous!” they said, and “you better send us pictures!” and “I can’t believe you’re gonna live near Times Square, that’s so cool.” (Our concept of New York’s geographical size was notably lacking - if you lived in New York, you lived near Times Square). Mom was the only one who showed any disappointment - “I would've given you the shop in a couple of years, you know” - but even she couldn’t disguise her esteem. “New York huh, look at you such a big shot, Florida too hot for ya?” She smirked when she said it; that was all she offered as far as esteem.
I dropped off the Rav-4 at a late-night garage in Flatbush and asked the worker how I could get to Times Square. I wanted to go back to where I’d originally fallen in love with New York, as an eight-year-old from a quiet Florida backwater with my world suddenly galvanized with flashing lights and colors and buildings that held up the sky. It was mine now, as much as it was anyone else's, and I wanted to give it a proper hello.
The worker laughed and said he’d never been to Times Square and that it was some ways away. Which struck me as odd.
One bus, two trains - one ill-chosen and going in the wrong direction - and two hours later, I arrived.
I climbed out of the subway at 42nd street, rising out of the ground and into that bustling wonderland with the same reverence I had when visiting for the very first time. A short-breathed “wow” escaped my lips and I cravingly absorbed my surroundings.
On the corner, two families, joined by vacation, wolfed down a healthy meal of ice cream and hot pretzels. The rest of the city seemed to pass and happen around them, so stuck and certain was their midnight snack. A few paces behind me a circle of suited men and boys hugged each other goodbye, one-by-one, with precisely executed backslaps and handshakes and fistbumps. They looked as though they’d just waltzed out of the richest “welcome to manhood” party there ever was; boys had become men, and men had blown way too much money. Over on the next block, a food cart crashed into another food cart and the two owners had a short screaming match before coming to terms and moving along, leaving some vegetable droppings behind for the pigeons.
I shook my head, baffled and quietly exhilarated. There was never this variety of simultaneous happenings anywhere else in the United States. And here I was, a part of it. I zoomed out for a moment and watched, broadly, as the semi-connected mass organism of strangers labored along in the August swelter. Everyone was there, just as I remembered them.
“Fucking tourist,” someone said, rushing past my right ear.
“No, I live here now,” I wanted to say after them. But they were gone.
I smiled. I live here now.
I looked up and slowly spun around, ogling the spires as they skewered like bayonets into the heavens. A solitary trumpet player blew victory notes directly across the street, as though announcing my arrival; like I - a kid from Nowhere, United States - was somehow important to this great concrete behemoth. My eyes watered, my chest expanded, my smile reached my ears and wouldn’t shrink. I felt like the protagonist of a classic New York movie, standing there spinning, camera spinning, nauseous with enthusiasm for all I was going to accomplish and discover in the greatest city in the world. NYC. The big apple. Home.
***
The doors to the A train closed just as I sprinted onto the platform. “No, no, no, no, come on!”
I hustled over to the conductor's window. “Please!” I shouted. “I need to make this, please, she’s gonna throw out all my shit!”
The conductor stared past me, bored. He opened the window, spat out his gum, and closed it again.
I threw a balled-up tissue at him and it fluttered harmlessly between the platform and the tracks. “Come on man! Have a heart!” I tried. Pathetic, admittedly. But people have done worse in the subway.
The train rolled out of the station, screeching like it was arguing with the tracks.
“Ever heard of WD-40 dickheads!” I shouted.
The train disappeared into the tunnel, characteristically indifferent to me or anyone else, and the platform went still.
My landlord had left me a voicemail that morning saying she was going to throw out my “garbage” - she was already calling my stuff garbage, the monster - if I didn’t show up to claim it by 4 PM. Trouble was, I only woke up at 2:43 PM. And had inexplicably decided to eat a put-together brunch with my on-and-off friends-with-benefits, Mindy, before checking my phone. I was so zen from the mushroom experience the prior night that when I got out of bed I said to myself, out loud, like a fool, “fuck technology,” and went to find a healthy meal.
Never fuck technology. Love technology with all your heart.
The next train was coming in fifteen minutes. If I waited I would arrive in Astoria at ten after 4. I couldn’t just sit around in the station stepping in gum while everything I owned was in mortal peril an hour away.
I ran out of the station and ordered an Uber. It was a waste of what little money I had, but what else was I to do? Between being broke and losing all my possessions, I’d take being broke every time. I’d been broke before, I’d be broke again. Big whoop. It was almost a right-of-passage in some areas of New York to announce, after a poetry slam or over mason jars of kombucha, that you were broke and didn’t know how much longer you were going to make it in the city. But I’d never lost all my shit before. It felt like part of my body was somewhere else and my landlord was kicking it in the balls.
“What about tenant’s rights?” Mindy had shouted after me earlier, as I ran for the door with sunny-side-up running down my face.
“Doesn’t apply!”I said, fighting with the top lock.
“Why not? Of course it applies, she can’t just kick you out, that’s illegal.”
“I’ll explain later, thanks for the food!” The rusty bolt clanked open and I ran out the door.
I was not going to explain later. If she knew I’d been selling cocaine out of my apartment - and that my landlord, after discovering my criminality, had kindly given me a few since-expired months to find a new living space - she would’ve deleted my number and taken out a restraining order. Mindy was new to New York and, while she considered herself somewhat of a shroom expert, she was ferociously against every other drug. "There’s a difference between productive and destructive drugs, I never do destructive drugs, it’s so dumb, like why are you putting something in your body that has been proven to ruin lives?” When she pontificated about any other substance than shrooms she turned into Nancy Reagan, but with a higher-pitched voice and fewer obvious political aspirations. I would just nod along and remind myself never to tell her how I was making enough money to afford my own apartment. She thought I still did consulting.
I climbed into the Uber without confirming my name and told the driver to go as quickly as possible. He said he would. But on the very next turn, we got stuck behind a garbage truck.
“I’m sorry,” he said, glancing at me in the rearview. “There’s nothing I can do.”
When we finally made it to the top of the block - our particular sanitation workers were having deep and meaningful conversations between each grab-and-toss - he inexplicably continued straight, following the barricade on wheels.
“Why didn’t you turn?” I said. “We need to get out from behind this thing.”
“The GPS is telling me to go straight so I’m going straight.”
“You don’t have to listen to the GPS for everything, it’ll reroute you, you can’t just follow a garbage truck because the GPS tells you to, the GPS doesn’t know about the garbage truck and it doesn’t know I’m in a rush.”
“Look man, I don't know these streets, I’m new to Uber in New York, okay? You’re making me uncomfortable, I trust the GPS, I don’t know you, you are not a GPS.”
I fell back into my seat. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this - who would continue following a garbage truck? You’re like Michael Scott from the Office, have you ever seen that show?”
“Yes, everyone has seen that show.”
“You remember when he drove into a lake because he wouldn’t go against his GPS?”
“You’re being rude, sir.”
“Well that garbage truck is our lake and you’re making sure we drown.”
The Uber driver jerked his wheel to the right and hit the breaks. “Out. Get out of my car.”
“What? You can’t do that, you can’t just kick me out.”
“I’m an independent contractor, this is my car, and you’re verbally harassing me. Leave my car please.”
“How did I verbally harass you? I referenced a popular TV show because the situation reminded me of it.”
“You compared me to one of the dumbest, most ignorant characters in Television history. I think that’s verbal harassment. You don’t have to agree with me but you do have to get out of my car.”
I snorted and opened the car door. “You’re gonna have to get a lot thicker skin if you’re going to make it in New York.”
“You’re gonna have to get a lot less rude if you’re gonna make it anywhere, Andy Bernard.”
I slammed the door and muttered “asshole”, coveting my own private retort. The driver showed me his middle finger, drove up behind the garbage truck, and stared me down for a good twenty seconds uninterrupted.
For a moment my frustration bubbled over into fury and an image flashed across my mind of me stomping on the Uber driver’s windshield and shouting “what’s your GPS telling you to do now you piece of shit!” It only occurred to me later that had I gone through with it and succeeded in breaking the windshield I would’ve fallen straight through the glass and probably ended up in the ER. I didn’t have money for the ER. I was a small-time drug dealer, passing time until the memory of my flame-out at Heinemann and Heinemann faded, and stopped being brought up at interviews and financial networking events. I was no Pablo Escobar. I couldn’t even hide my activities from my seventy-five-year-old landlord, never mind making it a career.
My fury turned away from the driver and towards the city. That careless, loveless, apathetic, frozen metropolis - where I’d landed and lost more jobs in four years than anyone in my family had in their entire lives - seemed determined to break me.
A group of students giggled past me, gallivanting and yipping and sweating their way around SoHo. I remembered when I lived in their New York; the sparkling opportunity capital of the United States. It had been a while. Now, even when Manhattan was at full boil, it still felt colder than the arctic.
I walked to the corner to scan for train stations and called my landlord. It went to voicemail. “Please don’t throw out my stuff,” I said. “I’m trying to get to you, I’m doing my best. I’m sorry I didn’t move out, you’re one-hundred-percent right, you gave me a chance and I squandered it and I’m so so sorry about that, but please, please, all I have is in that apartment. Everything. Please. I’m on my way.”
I hung up.
“Hey!” someone shouted.
I looked over. It was the Uber driver. He’d finally made it to the corner behind the garbage truck and was leaning out his open window.
“What? Did you change your mind?” I said.
“No,” he said, stifling excitement. “I just got back from the future, and I went to your funeral, and guess what? Nobody came.”
“Huh?”
“That’s from Andy Bernard. You’re Andy Bernard.”
“Oh. Sure dude. Thanks for going through so much effort to deliver that.”
“Anytime. Nard Dog.”
He gave me one more middle finger, rolled up his window, and made a left onto the avenue. In the opposite direction of the garbage truck.
I held my forehead and laughed. What does this goddamn city have against me?
***
I made it to my apartment at 4:45, with my chest heaving, legs trembling, and hope nearly gone. I’d sprinted straight from the N train at 30th Avenue, slowing down only to call Ms. Mullens and leave exceedingly supplicative voicemails. She would, at the very least, be entertained, when she got a moment to sit down and listen to them.
I jabbed my key into the lock, turned, and nearly broke my wrist. The knob was now the color of fresh bronze. When I left it was peeling, dirty, and without a discernible shade. “Ms. Mullens!” I shouted. “I know you’re around here somewhere! Could you please let me into my apartment?” No one answered. A door opened and closed down the hall and two red-eyed hippies walked by me and entered the elevator. I waited until they were gone before calling for the landlord again. Silence.
I stabbed the useless key into the wall until it hung there, fixed in seven layers of paint. That apartment was my home for three years. I’d slept there, ate there, cried there, had the best sex of my life there, had the worst sex of my life there, got sick there, said my first genuine “I love you” there, broke up there. It was everything to me. It was home.
“So you’re damaging my building now, eh?”
I swung around.
Ms. Mullens was standing at the top of the stairs, her seeing blue eyes pinched in anger.
There you are!” I said. “Where’s all my stuff? How come you changed the lock on my door already? Do you know what I did to get here? Do you have any idea the special kind of New York hell I went through to make it here only - yes, only! - forty-five minutes late?”
She lifted her brow. “You are talking a lot and very fast. Like someone with no integrity.”
“Fine! Do you want it shorter? Here it is in one sentence: where’s my stuff, slumlord.”
Ms. Mullens shook her head and her eyes glazed over. “Very sad, very sad.”
“Yes! Yes! Very sad, I’m such a tragedy, think of my mom, think of how hard it would be if I call her and tell her all my stuff were thrown out?”
Ms. Mullens continued talking to herself. “Eh, but you can’t go around being sad all the time, you need a lot of time and money to go around being sad. Eh. Maybe one day.”
“No, no, not one day, today, you can be sad today, feel it, really feel it, please, I just want my stuff. If I’m going to be homeless at least don’t let me be penniless. Don’t throw out my stuff. Please.”
She blinked for a few seconds and leaned up against the wall. “I haven’t thrown out your stuff.”
“Oh thank God! Thank you! I could just kiss you! Thank you so much! Oh my goodness, I thought I was gonna—”
“I gave it all away.”
My entire body lurched and then stopped. Everything slowed down, except for the ringing in my ears. “What. What. WHAT!”
Ms. Mullens pulled my key out of the wall and brushed away some loose flakes of paint. “I was planning on throwing everything out when I came over here this morning, but then I saw what you had in there and remembered apartment 3B - the rent-controlled apartment, I’ve been trying to get them outta here for years. They told me last year they’d move out if I bought them furnishings for their next apartment. And I thought, tada! You have nice furnishings! Why not give your stuff to apartment 3B? Instead of throwing it out. So that’s what I did.”
Ms. Mullens moved past me and opened what used to be my apartment. The space was completely bare, just hardwood floors and crusty white walls. Unrecognizable.
“I don’t understand,” I squeaked. “How did you get it out so quickly? It’s barely an hour after 4.”
Ms. Mullens paced around the apartment, testing out the light switches. My light switches. “Oh, right,” she said. “I did tell you 4 PM, didn’t I? Well, once I came over here in the morning and thought of this idea I just decided to get it over and done with. Why sit on a good idea, ya know? So I moved it all to a storage space in Forest Hills. 3B is eyeing a neighborhood there for their next apartment.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I thought it would stop the squeaking. It didn’t. “Let me get this straight, just so I understand. Even if I would’ve gotten here perfectly on time - the time you chose - I still would’ve been too late to save any of my stuff?”
“Oh. Yes. I suppose so.” Ms. Mullens' eyes suddenly grew wide and she pointed a crooked finger at my shoes. “Out! Out! Out! Get out!”
I stumbled back and looked down. “What? What do you want from me? You wanna fuck me more than you already have?”
“I don’t want that in my building! Get out! Or take off your shoes and throw them down the dumbwaiter!”
I lifted my feet one at a time and looked under my shoes. The grooves in my right sole were caked with gum and feces - a parting gift from a vile city. “Oh. Shit.”
Ms. Mullens retrieved a broom from the closet and brandished it at me. “Get 'em off, son. I know you had a hard day but that doesn’t mean you get to track poop all over a fresh apartment.”
A hard day. Ha. I stared past Ms. Mullens into my barren apartment and the anguish of my entire failed life crawled up my throat and watered my eyes.
“Oh, don’t do that, don’t cry, that’s not fair to cry and make me feel bad about all this.”
I tried to speak. Couldn’t.
“No, no, no, you had many chances to set yourself straight,” she said. “I could’ve gone right to the police when I found out, but I chose not to cause I thought you were a fine young man - other than the drug dealing, of course, that wasn’t exactly a shining star on your record as far as I’m concerned - but overall you were fine. And you messed up. You messed up and now you’re gonna have to deal with the consequences. Everyone has to deal with consequences at some point. Especially in this city.”
I ignored her and pulled out my phone.
“Good,” she said, calming down. “Call yourself a car service or something, go stay at a friend's apartment for a few nights.”
“Hello, ma?” I said into the phone. “Yeah, um, no I’m not fine actually. Am I what? Yes, I’m crying. I’ll tell you about it later I just need a favor from you now, please. Just, yes, um, can you book me a ticket home? I’ll tell you later, I promise. Thank you so much. Yes. I love you too. Thanks. Bye.”
Ms. Mullens pushed the broom against my feet. “Just… if you would please take your calls outside. It’s the same phone service outside as inside, ya know?”
I sat down on the hardwood and closed my eyes and quiet tears streaked down my face.
“Oh come on! Stop it already, you’re going through a rough patch, big deal, you’re young, go do something a young person would do. And don’t forget, this might even be good for you. Like a growing experience.”
I started laughing. Despairing full-body laughs that were just as steeped in suffering as the crying had been. I grabbed ahold of the wall radiator to keep me sitting upright.
Every year thousands of people flocked to Manhattan with the song “New York, New York” playing in their imagination, thinking, hoping one day those iconic lyrics would apply to them, that they’d be able to say, with pride and esteem, for having toiled and won, that they could’ve made it anywhere else in the world because they’d made it in New York, New York. But what Sinatra didn’t mention in his anthem, what I didn’t consider when I drove a one-way Toyota from Orlando to New York, was that every year, at the same time thousands of dreamers entered the city, thousands of cynics left.
“Ms. Mullens,” I said, regaining my composure.
“Yes?”
“Not everything that fucks you in the face is a growing experience. Sometimes you’re just getting fucked in the face.”
***
A few years after I moved back to Florida, the family started doing New York trips again. Mom’s gift shop had seen a sudden uptick after being featured on a popular YouTube travel vlog and started attracting tourists from across the country. They all wanted to meet her. She’d become something of a sensation after responding to the vlogger's question of “what do you guys do for fun around here” with “beastiality” and the straightest face anyone had ever seen. “Na I’m just kidding ya, I’m kidding ya,” she’d said after a few thickly awkward seconds. “We have the same fun ya’ll do.” Then she’d pointed at the vlogger’s GoPro. “We just don’t feel the need to tell everyone about it.”
I didn’t join the family on their New York vacations. I’d come to hate it as severely as I’d ever loved it. It was everything to me, for years. In my childhood and adolescence every essay, every yearbook, every presentation, every birthday wish was about New York in some way. My dreams, both waking and asleep, were disproportionately set in downtown or midtown - such went the silly renderings of my childish Manhattan paradise. I had loved it, dearly, and it had beaten me up and spat me out.
I might’ve been able to accept the beating if New York had paused a moment to see me, understand me, know me, and then kick me in the face, with some degree of intention. But my demise was happenstantial, inconsequential to a frenzied over-populated ceaseless beast of a city. It had crushed me like an elephant crushes a bug - it happened to be moving, and I happened to be under its heel.
I wouldn’t return to New York for another fifteen years. And I would never see Times Square again. Dreams became more and more infrequent until I stopped having them altogether. Eventually, I started working at the gift shop with Mom. She didn’t know how to organize all the new money that was coming in and I helped her get everything systematized.
“Finally putting your degree to use, eh sweetie?” she'd say, nearly once a month.
“Yup,” I’d respond, staring blankly into an excel sheet.
And that was all there was.
Years later, one of my nieces asked me what I thought about her moving to LA. She wanted to become a make-up artist in Hollywood and heard I was the right person to ask about cross-country relocations (somehow I was still known as the adventurous uncle; familial reputations had a way of outliving their truth).
“Do you think I should do it?” she said, her eyes a-sparkle.
I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Why not?” she frowned.
I drank down the rest of my stale coffee and closed my laptop. “Well, Gracey dear, if you never go to heaven, you’ll always have what to look forward to.”
END

I was around 12 at that time. It was the 90's and my mother won a vacation to Orlando FL and we stayed in a hotel. Usually our vacations were camping in a tent so being in a hotel was fancy for us. I wanted to be fancy too. When we were packing, I decided to bring the only heirloom that was handed down from my great grandmother to my aunt, and then me. It was a small gold heart locket with a small gemstone in the middle. I also brought my beloved gold hoop earrings that my mom bought for me.
I didn't want to lose them when we left the hotel so I set them proudly on the top center of the dresser and we headed out. When I came back, the room had been cleaned and the locket and earrings were gone. At that time I thought it was all my fault and thought my parents would be mad at me so I didn't say anything.
It's been almost 30 years and I still look back frequently thinking how dumb I was to bring the only nice, sentimental jewelry that I owned with me. I should have just left it at home where it would have been as safe.
I sometimes find myself looking at eBay, Etsy, Craigslist to see if I could find it. Even if I did find it, I probably wouldn't be able to afford it looking at how much vintage jewelry costs.
If anyone knows someone who cleaned rooms at an Orlando hotel in the 90's and they gave you earrings or a heart locket, please let me know. I'd be willing to pay for them. They were both very unique and I could draw pictures of what they looked like.
I'm so ashamed and angry at myself for being so stupid. I want to get past that but I'm finding it hard to let it go.
Hopefully at least that could be a lesson for someone else, in addition to myself. If you're younger and have nice jewelery, keep it safe and never bring it anywhere. Especially do not leave it alone in a hotel.

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and I'm slightly terrified, lol. I haven't been in a band for a pretty long time, but I've kept up on my chops, and I think I can still hang.. Wish me luck!
Ad for reference..
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https://orlando.craigslist.org/muc/d/orlando-members-wanted-for-pop-punk/7508873162.html

Hi! I'm an upcoming student at FIEA in fall 22. I'm interested in living close to downtown.
Can anyone recommend any good options or maybe someone looking for a roommate?
I have found a 2b house near downtown for $1500 if anyone is interested in sharing the rent.
https://orlando.craigslist.org/apa/d/orlando-this-place-is-awesome-fantastic/7485159144.html