Le Pensuer

When a shiny minivan pulls up next to me on 186th street, I think at first that the car is just parking. It is, but it turns out Gershon S. is the driver and, after spotting me through the windshield, starts honking like a madman. We chat for a while and he tells me about his new upstart business, Hudson Heights Restoration.

Zehava K. walks by and I join up with her. She wants to hear all about Matt's wedding in Israel, which I attended in May. I spot Lisa K. on Overlook while talking to Zehava, and we also pass Rabbi B. He waves. When we reach the platform, Uri M. walks by and says hello.

Zehava looks ponderous and I want her to assume the position of Le Penseur, to photograph for my blog, but she doesn't agree. On the train, she grabs a seat but I stand, preferring that to squeezing between two fairly large people on the bench across from her. At 59th, we both get off and wave goodbye.

Walking towards Park, I see my old girlfriend Debbie R. but by the time I recognize her, it's too late to say hello. As quickly as the fleeting summer nights so many, many years ago, she has disappeared into her office building.

Funk 54

Sometimes I get funny ideas, like wondering if it would be feasible to commute on a hot air balloon (perhaps it would make for a more interesting blog). Turning from Bennett onto 186th, I hear someone calling my name. Its Gershon S. Known to most people simply as "Stats," Gershon is a star guitar player that once played with a very popular garage band based out of Washington Heights.

Up ahead I see Benny S. and walking behind me is Ezra F. When I reach the platform, I see Lisa K. who waves to me and eventually I pass Benny, who also waves.

I take a seat on a bench near my spot, and a young man sitting next to me gets up to say hi to a woman in a stingy straw fedora. I notice he has a blue, "Spark" flavored Vitamin Water, one that I've never seen before.  Adina, whose last name I can’t quite remember, says hello just as I'm boarding the train. We get on the same car, along with Benny, but I sit alone and finish reading my New Yorker.

Laughing Like Children

I leave my apartment and there is a tall, broad woman standing in the hallway, just outside my door. She has bleached platinum blond hair and is wearing white pants with a blue sweater, and is cursing into her cell phone with a Russian accent.

Down on Bennett, I see Gershon S. in front of the school building on 186th. He is a close friend and I haven’t seen him in ages. I try to catch up but by the time I reach the corner he is already gone.

I reach the station and wonder where Station Homeless Guy is, I haven’t seen him all week. At the platform, someone is playing the saxophone and I listen, until he stops, before putting my headphones on and listening to my own music.

On the train, there is a thin blond woman across from me. Her hair is long and straight, and her child, who’s gender I can’t quite tell, has the same color hair but in curly format. The mother puts on some lip liner, and the child – I guess it’s a girl - asks for some as well. The mother fishes through her purse to find some Vaseline Lip Therapy and the girl holds out her finger for it. A little dab on the index and then she spreads it on her lips. Suddenly, they both burst into laughter, and when they look at me and I laugh with them too.