Wednesday

There is something about the rain.

I woke up at 7:40 a.m. My alarm goes off at 8:00 a.m. Waking fantasies of coffee (between dreaming fantasies of dragons) rolled my smile over the rest of my body rendering sleep obsolete. The people who warn you not to drink coffee right out of bed have never had it fresh-ground.

My neighborhood is very windy. The petulant child pulls paper out of the garbage cans and tosses it about. I decided to pick up all the trash I could on my way to the subway. After an hour or so, I made it to Ditmars Boulevard. On the train, I gave my seat to a frizzie-haired woman. She was not pregnant or old.

I’ve had my job for one year. Once seated in my office, I spent the next two hours doing absolutely everything. I got it all done. The director called me for my annual evaluation where I was told that despite my wardrobe and stainless steel garnishes, I was a “top notch employee and an example for the rest of the staff.” I was given a raise. When the ceremony was over, I walked outside to drop a letter in the post box. A scream! I turned to see a woman proclaim her stroller toward Second Avenue. I sprinted to the infant, scooping her out of the stroller with my left hand while grabbing the handle of the cart with my right. No bulls will run over young Lucy today. I went back to work, consoled my boss over the death of her aunt and was given the rest of the day off.

The M15 bus runs south on Second Avenue. Entering the bus, the only open seat was next to a Latino man. Three blocks later, he began to teach me Portuguese. Thirteen blocks later, I knew the same vocabulary as the average Portuguese teenager. Thirty blocks later, I decided to hop off and told Jorge (his name was Jorge), “Foi um prazer conhecerte, meu amigo.” In English: “It was a pleasure meeting you, my friend.”

There is a fantastic falafel place at Broadway and 17th. I walked there and bumped into Matthew Broderick. He mentioned something. I mentioned something else. He mentioned something about New York. I laughed and we sat down together in Union Square Park to eat. We talked about Election and Ferris Bueller. He asked me about being in a band. I asked him about executives at HBO. A husband and wife eating lunch nearby stood up suddenly. The man was huffing in and out and the woman was rubbing his back. Eyes bulging now, he grabbed at his throat and she screamed, “Somebody help!” Luckily, Matthew Broderick carries an Epi-Pen with him. He popped off the cap and stabbed the needle into the man’s thigh. Crisis averted. The four of us then went to the afternoon showing of Watchmen in IMAX.

Watchmen is a long movie. To ease the stiffness of sitting for three hours, I padded to Chelsea to meet my friend Claire for dinner at her father’s restaurant. Halfway through the meal, she mentioned the chef’s name off-hand:
“…Mark Lupino.”
“Mark Lupino!” I said.
“Mark Lupino,” she said.
I knew Mark from restaurant work in Saratoga after college. Before I knew it, Claire, Claire’s father, Mark and I were all Elaphanting through red wine. We laughed, drank cappuccino, exchanged phone numbers and laughed some more. Mark hailed a cab for my ride home to bed.

7:40 a.m. Lovely rain.

Next Post: Me and Her and the End.