“The Gayel Philwaki Episodes” is the written documentary of a group of guys who share a friendship and a dream in the vibrant hustle of young adulthood. Driven by the beauty and freedom of the arts, Orka, Bookie, Soup, Herman and Gayel climb the steep path to a shared momentum on the awesome side of life. Gayel Philwaki is the narrator of their tale and this is another of his writings."



In the previous episodes: When Soup came up with the idea to throw a party showcasing a collective piece of work, Gayel, Bookie, Orka and Herman spent a week working on a masterpiece. During the party, which was held at the Shop, the guys leaned back and enjoyed drinks, women and some old Brooklyn bangers.



With a mug of coffee in my hand I joined the guys on the threshold outside. As the early sunrays tried to warm-up the cold of a five o’clock aftermath, I zipped up my vest and leaned on the banisters. The party was over.

We were all there except Bookie; his absence filling the room with speculations on a romantic escapade with Féfé. I took a sip from my Jungle Book mug, feeling the heaviness of my eyes burning the last bits of energy. Soup looked terrible, browsing through the night’s photographs on the cold steps of the Shop. The only one who seemed exceptionally fresh this early morning was Orka, solely speaking of all the great things that happened tonight to a washed-out, half-conscious Herman. “Does anyone have a cigarillo left, by any chance?” I asked.

It was a great night indeed. We presented our collective work to an audience of friends and fans; lovers of the arts and casual minds who came in for the free beer. It took more than half an hour to showcase the entire work, but the effort paid off; the last bits of energy invested in this piece were now slowly evading from content, proud bodies. It was a success and Soup’s big idea proved to be a huge hit. “What do you think the papers will write tomorrow?” Orka asked while handing me his last Mehari. “Let’s hope Bookie doesn’t fuck up tonight,*” replied Soup without taking his eyes off the camera. "...or maybe he should," added a past-out Herman mumbling.

As the sun kissed the moon goodnight, I finally decided to go to sleep. The mug was empty, the cigarette smell took over the fresh cotton cologne of my new tee and there seemed to be nothing left of the night but the sluggishness of its hosts. As I walked down the stairs to my bike, wiping the morning dew off the saddle, I looked back one more time: “They’re going to see more of us now…”.

Signed: Gayel Philwaki

* Féfé being the editor-in-chief of a big local magazine (read episode 9).