The Bicoastal Dream

“GO CUBBIES,” the hefty man belted at his TV. Even as the pandemic raged on, Sean insisted on drinking an entire 12-pack during every Cubs game and storming into Sluggers. “This is the Chicago dream,” he thought one night, surveying his 6-bedroom, 10 roommate apartment on Roscoe.

Yes, he was 37 and still lived with 9 roommates, and yes, he insisted on shotgunning 4 more beers after all his friends had stopped drinking hours ago, but Sean knew what made him happy. And he was about to turn a new leaf in his life.

So what if he still wore his wedding ring and would regularly ramble on about the wife and three children he had abandoned? He wanted to be the first male Radio City Rockette, and that required sacrifice.

His wife (he still called her that, they were still legally married after all) never supported his Big Apple dreams. She said his pear-shaped body and thick, intense mat of body hair wouldn’t work in those tight costumes, but he begged to differ. And he would prove her wrong.

In fact, his body hair proved to be more of an asset than either of them ever imagined. His first day in New York he booked multiple commercials for hair removal cream. Things were finally looking up. And his ex wife would have to move on.

Riding the 6 train while carrying Tina Fey’s “Bossypants” in his hand, he started to feel like this is where his life would really begin. These are the early moments he would reference on stage at the Oscars when he accepted his award from Barron Trump. That is until, he saw her.

They exchanged glances across the car as the train creaked into Grand Central, but he lost sight of her in the crowd as they exited into the terminal. He was certain she was gone, until he spun and found himself face to face with her. “I’m 50,” he said, hand extended. “50 Cent.”