Anyone who knows me knows that I love bound notebooks — little ones especially. Rooting around for some work-related notes this morning, I had a chance to rifle through a few scribblings, and ran into the following. Not sure when I wrote it though:

I step off the train in the middle of a hurrying throng. We turn the corner and arrange ourselves for the rush up steps. A young woman who no doubt has heard our train, her train arriving quickens her pace down the stairs. Against the grain.

But we make way — group intelligence working rather like an ant farm — and leave her a corridor to pass.

I root for her. I hope she makes it all the way to the impatient beast, though unlikely, so I give even more space for her to pass than is necessary. Our eyes meet then quickly forget that they have met. She pushes down the last few stairs knowing, as I do, that she has missed the train. The doors close. As she hits the platform a second later I see her head turn just enough to see me out of the corner of her eye. I will forever believe that she was looking for me perhaps to say, “thank you,” with a glance.

I rooted for her. And now, just as quickly, I thirst to rise to street level — for my lungs to clutch the sweet rain-tinged air.

It was early on in my blogging adventure when I wrote what is probably still my favorite post to date. I had come across a gentleman who caused my mind to race with delight. And though I am no closer to knowing him now than I was then, I continue to think of his many names. Yesterday I came across what may be his long-lost Shy Brother, Danté.

Read the rest of this entry →

The aftermarket for things that make people warm is in full swing — even on my block.

I’m not sure that this man was aware that his jacket matched the vinyl seat coverings as he sat facing the back wall in the basement of a Wendy’s on Broadway. His particularly stylish type of despair is of a type that one encounters frequently in the dusty corners that abut the Great White Way.

Recently, with the aid of google maps and the USPS, I learned that Broadway is both the name and type of street. For instance, addresses on Broadway don’t read 555 Broadway, St. They read simply 555 Broadway. It hasn’t taken me quite as long to learn that a street with its own designation is home to as many deep sorrows as great aspirations.