Monday, Monday

Throwing out the garbage is always a decent way to commence the week (although one must ask: why wasn’t it already thrown out the night before?).  Downstairs in the basement I run into Willie and we chat about Mondays. No one likes going back to work on a Monday, and no matter how much rest one has gotten on Saturday and Sunday, the start of the week is always tiresome.

Outside, dozens of children are on their way to school.  I walk to the A station and pass Ezra B. at the bottom of the steps.  He is engrossed in the New York Times.

I am still walking towards my spot when Sara C. sneaks up behind me.  As with Willie, we also talk about Mondays and I ask her if she went rafting yesterday with a bunch of our friends.  She doesn’t like rafting anymore, and reminds me of our rafting trip last summer (or was it two summers ago), when I almost tore my rotator cuff and had to spend a few weeks in physical therapy.  We also talk about fantasy novels, which she enjoys reading, though she thinks Lord of the Rings is a bit childish and the poetry far too long for her patience.  I solemnly admit to skipping some of the poetry myself, but remain steadfast that it is my favorite trilogy both in book and in movie form.

As I’m talking to Sara, I notice Moshe L. on the platform, in the distance.  Sara and I board the train together, but we find seats apart and I don’t speak to her again until we get off at 59th.  I transfer promptly to the B train, where one stop later I run into Yaffa Z. just as she gets off.