Not Today

Not Today

(This is part three, and the final part of the London Fury 2022 series [the original 2019 Fury London Post can be read here]. For part 1, go here. For part 2, go here. Thank you for indulging me; added, the whole thing is like 11k words, think it was better to have chunked it up like this, dopa receptors, insta gratification etc. Thanks for those hanging in there!)

Fury entered the Bulgari.

Shit was fire, luxury all over. Black, marble, shiny, the works. Guys pretending to be busy. Same drill, doesnt matter how many stars. (Five, haha). To the right, Fury saw some garcons, and he inquired about the cigar lounge.

They joked, You are early.

Fury checked the time. Shit, he was. Seventeen minutes. He had walked a bit too fast. He hated to miss the exact timing. Oh, well. He let go. Guy said, with an accent, Follow me.

So he brought him to the back side of the hotel, which was all golden and beige and pastel, and shiny ofcourse, with right in front of him a long bar.

It looked great. One of the better ones Fury has seen, and he was there all by himself. To his left there were booths. And to his right, it was for dining, and right in front of the entrance, up the stairs, of the cigar lounge sat a cute blonde jazz singer giving it her all with jazz staples for maybe, what, ten people in the whole place.

The place reeked off class, tho. Bit untactical, mean Fury was know musing that he was with his back to the entrance of the room, and to his left and right he could be ganged up upon. However, five stars, so he thought no trash today. Not this time.

This aint some old town Bucharest sh, or old town anywhere for that matter, where they gone hate, and throw you out. RE; Soho, and RE:Shoreditch. Go fuck yourself, Fury thought.

Bartender came. They made introductaries and Fury didnt hesitate for a moment and said:

“Bloody Mary, please. Been drinking bit too much. Always perfect the day after.”

Bartender smiled, and said, “Do you want the Bloody Mary spicy?”

“Sure. I dont care. I come from a family that eats spicy, trust me. Nothing surprises me.”

Bartender went off, polishing a glass and the works, getting the ingredients.

Fury meantime took a small moment of rest, once more, for himself, because he knew once in an establishment like this you can take a breather. He checked out the jazz singer, she was good. Had thick luscious notes she was hitting, nice sound to listen to. Fury thought, could listen to that all night long…

Fury kept the bartender busy with banter.

What Vodka you put in it?

The bartender showed him a beautiful matt glass receptacle, Belvedere.
Fury nodded in agreement, he liked it. He also liked Grey Goose, so they talked about that. Bartender stuck with Belvedere, Fury got that.

Fury went deeper and said, Have you ever put in Tequila in the Bloody Maries? I’ve heard that’s a thing.

Oh yeah, the Bartender said. We have this bottle, this bottle.
He started pointing. But Fury stopped him.

He said, Oh no, not for me! People kept recommending it to me, and wanted to see if it was a thing, something legit that bartenders do.

The bartender smiled. It was subdued, mustve been because of his Indian Heritage, the caste system, cultural, upbring, everything. Fury made mental notes of such things, to whip it out later, in convo.

Fury then struck from the void, and said, You ever made a Bloody Mary with Mezcal, that would be dope as hell.

The bartender shook his head no and he was surprised you could tell and he smiled his lopsided subdued smile once more. Fury got em, haha a small inner victory on this beautiful day.

He kept listening to the Jazz as the Bartender made the Bloody Mary, Fury then asked if he could charge his phone behind the bar, but the bartender said its better to ask the girl (who was very attractive) at the counter earlier, by the entrance to the bar/restaurant.

Fury got off the barstool, walked a couple meters, and said, Hey Miss, [insert name of bartender] said to me you could charge my phone.

Yes, do you have a cable?

Fury did, and noted she was Russian, Fury had a thing for Slavic women.

Fury said, This place is amazing, cool staff too, that bartender gives me the best vibes and convo.

She agree and smiled and Fury dashed off, back to his seat, where the timing couldn’t have been greater, the Bloody Mary waiting for him.

He sipped it, and for a mere mortal, it wouldve been spicy yes, but Fury didnt mind, at all, and the scratchy spicyness was nice to cure the throat of all the smoking he’d been doing, He loved it. In his culture it was tradition that if you had a fever, headache, sore throat, cough, anything like that, you had to eat extremely spicy peppers or in a soup, which made you all fired up and hot, in the right places and almost instantly you’d be cured.

This Bloody Mary was his modern day suave cool looking equivalent idea of that. He smiled inwardly.

Bartender, appeared, by Fury and asked him how it was. Fury couldn’t lie and said, This is by far top five or top three even, of best Bloody Mary cocktails I’ve ever had.

The guy was taken by it. Touching his heart with his hand.

It made Fury feel good that it made him feel good. Genuineness sometimes goes a looooooong way.

By now Fury had known two people in a five star hotel. Fury was running the numbers. He looked back, towards the woman behind the counter. The guy who had later known as N, the cigar guy, was chatting with her.

Fury got up, it was time, and he approached the sir.

I’d like to smoke a cigar.

N said to come with him and Fury had already finished his cocktail and they passed the curve of the shiny bar and they nodded and the bartender and kept walking.

Passed the Jazz singster, then a big sign that said:

Edward Sahakian Cigar Lounge. Davidoff London. In Partnership with the Bulgari.

All fancy stuff, nothing Fury worried about too much, he was here to smoke a fabulous cigar.

Some highlights from Fury in the Lounge:

-Fury sat by the portrait of Bogart;
-Smoked a Bolivar Royal Corona, which was the best Bolivar he had had (Minus the one smoked with Tristan Tate)
-Drank a coffee and a Johnny Walker Blue all the while listening to smooth classic Jazz, with staples from tour de force like Sinatra
-N gave him a Masterclass of a world of Cigar Knowledge

[The rest of the Detailed cigar lounge breakdown will be reserved for either the Cigar Course supporters or members of the Casa de La Furia]

After Fury got the bill, he walked back down, and was about to leave to meet up with Lee once more at Hyde Park, he realized he had made not one, but Three new acquaintances in a Five star hotel in a span of mere hours. Fury his social suaveness was growing and he could tell people could notice.

As he got his phone and smiled at the cute woman, as he shook the bartender his hand, he saw people looking at him in his dirty and dusty trench, like Constantine lol, and they were very attractive looking women and some powerful guys.

Fury felt this, acknowledged this and nodded to him briefly, He’d be back.

Lee was running a bit late, but they caught up at the fountain near the entrance to Green Park Station. From there they went into motion again, doing their thing, bantering, talking about women, relations, sex, game, life, everything and anything really.

Lee said Fury was very Socially Calibrated. Hm, Fury thought. He hadnt heard it put like that, and a small little euraka alarm bell went off. It makes sense. Because Fury had been to 33+ countries, loads of places, talking to people, maneuvering himself out of hairy situations, it mustve required some level of social competence, but Fury never saw it like that. He was by no means, ever a natural, he mused. But its nice to hear something gratuous, magnamious, kind and accepting and pointing out that all the hard work hadnt been in vein.

It felt good, he took it, and told Lee very much so about the compliment. Fury did him the favor back, too, and said Lee had insanely congruent game. What Fury meant was Lee’s style, the way he talked, the muh “lines” he used etc.

It was the best compliment anyone could ever give Lee, he said to Fury.

They ate some ice cream, as Fury was flirting with the cute girl who sold the ice. And Lee chipped in, throwing out banter, teasing her. And they were having a ball as the late hours of the day was present, and the sun was waning.

Lee had to leave a bit earlier this time, so the degen SOHO part two had to be replicated, another time, they promised and they agreed to help one another with their endeavors and they shook hands and Fury asked one last thing.

Yo where can I get some proper Chinese Food?

Lee said, Just go back to Soho.

Fury walked the path as he knew it and landed back at SOHO. There he saw the girls again they had met that night in SOHO. There was a singer, playing very powerful live music with his guitar. They were harassing him with their boisterous presence, dancing like drunk nymphs, and occupying his space. He asked them kindly to leave. The whole spectacle Fury caught on Film and sent it to Lee.

Fury took the first Chinese restaurant that served Peking Crispy Duck with vegetables in small little pancakes. The guy was an OG hustler, too, he was smoking outside, and he waved Fury inside as he was checking out the sign if they had that duck.

Fury asked before he went in, if they did indeed have it, didnt want to bother the guy again by leaving if they didnt have that very specific dish.

Fury went inside and felt normal, even if it was just for a second. Always a Tweener, never really a Chinese, even though his blood was, but culturally and so forth he never really fit in. But because of his looks, optics – optics – optics there wasnt really hardcore what is this IM A COWBOY riding into town kind vibes as he sat down at a table in the corner.

The waitress was thin, Chinese and she spoke a dialect that Fury could partly make out. Beside him there was a cute couple just finishing up and the guy gave him a smile, acknowledging his presence and they exchanged a few pleasantries.

His gf asked for the bill, and Fury understood that phrase. He’d heard it millions of time.

He smirked inwardly, felt a bit like home. Thats why he had done it, asked for Lee a Chinese resto recommendation, after all that running around, getting kicked out of sh, Fury wanted some fucking peace and quiet. Sit the fuck down. And just enjoy his f meal without putting up Too much of a barrier. And that people just leave him alone, and that he can be, a bit, of himself.

Girl came, Fury ordered the duck, which came fast, even before he had finished his Cola, before his hot pot of Jasmine Tea came.

The Duck was okay, it was moreso about the peace and quiet that was bought. Fury hadnt eaten anything the whole day, besides that croissant in the morning at the Maritime Museum. He was realizing that as he ate. Never much a foodie, nor really hungry but he had to eat nonetheless. It helped with the recovery, of all of it.

He finished up and it was satisfying, the duck, the ritual, the little pancakes, the freshly cut spring onions and cucumber, then a drizzle of sauce on the sides of the pancake like a glue, then the duck in center, the wrapping. Then the first bite heaven, then diminishing marginal returns, and throwing it down the hatch. This too, Fury had done a Million times.

After the meal was done, he sat for a longspell, hydrating and finished off the pot of tea.

After he was done giving the ol eye to the lanky chinese cute shy waitress, he got the bill and left. It was gonna be a quiet night in. And one Fury welcomed very much so.

The next morning Fury realized he was about to have a couple first timers. Well he slept in the Hammersmith the first time, on one side Fury realized the foolish aspect of paying for a hotel and then going degen two nights in row and not sleeping in the room, but he realized theres always a price to pay somehow. The other first time was the morning breakfast. Which was far from good, to put it mildly. But the Russian women serving it were pretty, tho.

The last first time Fury was gonna meet with a twitter bro, a private coach who lived in the UK, Oliver Roanwar.

They agreed to meet at Kings Cross. Fury had also agreed to meet with the notorious Gritcult, little bit thereafter.

Fury was early, had time, so he killed it with the not so good breakfast. After he went back to the Green Park Station.

To the Davidoff Store, the Davidoff London Store. He didnt catch Edward or Eddy Sahakian, the owners, and the ones who gave him the cool cigar lounge experience basically. He bantered a bit with the guys behind the counter and then went in the humidor in the back. Bantered a bit with the guys, there, some more and settled for two Davidoff Gran Cru 702 Robusto Discontinued Line. It was AV favorite, so Fury bought him a gift and a lighter as a souvenir. Fury’s way of a souvenir.

After he put it in his luggage off he went to Kings Cross. Right on the dot, Oliver comes walking, and the shake hands and pleasantries, the works. Great smiles all around and they agreed to smoke a cigar, but food first. They catch up about life and what Fury was doing there. And Fury told him about the Stag Do.

They went inside for some fish and chips. And some Cola, extra Keto ofcourse. The Women were looking at this masterminding of grand energy. Because they both have Asian heritage, the boys looked well fit together, and ready to tackle some heavy stuff.

Outside once more, Fury said to Ollie to ask the people beside them to snap a pic, and Fury came up with the bullshit story that they were long lost brothers who were adopted and that after 50M years they got reacquianted once more, which gave the couple a hoot, and the energy was very palpable on the photos being taken.

They were smoking up now, too. Fury had ordered a coffee, to pair along with the stogs. Flor de Oliva, with a Sumatran Wrapper leaf, Fury had asked for it personally at his local cigar store, of which he knew the owner.

Fury had said, My friend has some Indonesian heritage, I want it to be special. What you got, anything of that sorts?

I got just the thing, the owner had said.

Olliv loved it and said his dad was from Sumatra. Score. Fury took the W, and they smoked up, and could tell they were magnetic. Bc once you riding the energy high, others either wanna take it and or join in. Suddenly a waiter, from Italy, was a cigar smoker as well. Asking Fury for recommendations and places to go to smoke and buy cigars. Fury dropped him all the knowledge he had accumulated so far.

Guy said he was new in London. Fury said, So am I. Bro, I just learned that info the last few days. The Italian waiter felt the surge of power and respect and smiled every so dashingly and shook hands and went back inside.

The fun was shortlived, bc Fury had to catch a train back home, and Ollie had to train for his big bout.

Fury tried reaching Grit, but funny thing he’d already passed but was now at a friends. Shoreditch. Grit and Fury tried calling eachother a couple times but kept missing eachother. They did video chat, after a long while, haha, wasnt meant to be, frictionless is the way to be and go and that was then, for next time.

Fury’s list of five, had expanded by now.

Fury walked Ollie to his station and they parted, for now, and promised perhaps to Turn Up for summer, who knows.

Then Fury sauntered around the Station bit, bit bored, didnt wanna leave, per usual, and then sat down at a Table in Kings Cross. Very close to where the piano is, by the stairs. If you know it.

The guy behind the piano was playing and playing. Fury was sitting and resting. Listening and listening. He didnt want to leave. He wanted to keep going and going. He looked at the piano, and at the entrance to the train platform behind it. Fury ended up where he started. Life’s like that, he thought. Circles and circles, always. One day it had to stop.

That day was not today. He got up and left for the train platform, as he heard the faint echoes of the piano tunes.

Fury will return. (Ideas of Curating all the Art he Loved in London, and put that sh on one page! We will see. Blogpost about Portugal and the James Altucher show coming TOO!!!!!)

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