Sticky and Sound

Someone dropped a rosemary stalk, in the elevator, and a straw too.  The floor's also pretty sticky, and when I get out my shoes feel glued to the ground for the next couple of steps.  Outside, one of the old ladies who live in my building is sitting in the courtyard on a lawn chair.  I wish her a good morning and she heartily responds with blessings for a good day.

Rachel L. swings past the intersection of Overlook and 186th, and I catch up to her right before the subway entrance.  Rabbi B. is also nearby and says hello. Rachel and I walk through the tunnel and down to the platform, then into Jenny R. who forgets that I exist while talking to Rachel about her recent engagement.  When the train arrives, I try to convince Rachel that since she works on 47th, she should be at the southern end of the platform, where she can get out right on 47th, instead of 50th, where she will get out if she is in the back.  She is set in her ways, however, and I walk alone to the other end.

Drill Bit

For most people, there is nothing ordinary about a morning that includes a trip to the dentist but for me it's just a quick stop on the way to work. A little injection here, a little prodding there - no biggie.

The train arrives just as I reach the platform.  Ezra B. is standing right behind me, and says hello when I see him.  Also in the car is Jenny R. She smiles, and waves from the distance.  Down to the left I notice Rebecca W.  She introduced herself to me at a party this weekend (little of which I can still recall) but has yet to accept my Facebook friend request (there can be no greater insult).

I get out at 59th and notice Ezra behind me again, this time talking with a blond neighborhood girl.  They walk towards Columbus Circle and I duck into Central Park, where I can watch Srugim on my phone and kill 15 minutes till my appointment.

November Rain

December took me by surprise today. Isn't November a month that should have 31 days, despite the song we learn as children? At least the air, when I get downstairs, feels more like winter.

I walk to the A station and through the turnstiles. Jenny R. is in front of me, walking down the stairs, but she doesn't see me. On the platform, I see the curly hair girl I met two weekends ago, her name now completely escapes me. She waves. Also on the platform is Caryn L. She is sitting on a bench, reading. She doesn't see me and I continue walking to my spot, board the train, and get to work on time for a change.

Mystery Door #1

It is the day after Yom Kippur and I am still recovering, not from the fasting, but from all the food I ate once it was over. I get to the station and head towards the bottom of the stairs. There is someone here that I recognize, and he says hi. I remember meeting him at Adam’s place a long time ago (before Adam moved to Chicago) but I am clueless to his name. Jenny R. is also at the base of the stairs.


Walking towards my spot I hear someone call my name and it is Sara S. I’m forever happy to see Sara and talk to her in the morning, except that her job starts an hour after mine does, so it always means I’m late. When we board the train we find seats near a thin redhead, just two seats away, and we spend a large portion of the ride debating the redhead’s gender.


A few stops later the conductor leaves his post and walks over to us. He kindly asks us to get up, and when we do he opens a hidden panel behind the area where we were sitting. Inside, there are numerous switches and after flipping one or two of them, he closes it and thanks us as we sit back down. We get to our final stop and Sara offers to lead me through one of the tunnels under Rockefeller. It gets me out half an avenue closer to work, but it’s still not good enough for me to make the morning’s first meeting on time.

Quiet Time

After a traumatic experience with a palmetto earlier this morning, I am not particularly overjoyed at the thought of yet another morning commute. The mugginess in the air does not help. On the way to the station I walk behind a young Hispanic girl in denim jeans and Ked-like shoes. She's wearing a blue jersey with "Posadas" printed across the back, and I wonder if it's a tribute to the capital city of the Misiones Province in Argentina, or to the famous Trotskyist Juan Posadas.

Inside the station I see Esther B. and Jenny R. talking at the bottom of the steps and join them just as the train pulls in. Rabbi B. is also there and he nods to me when I wave hello. I sit next to Esther and Jenny, and Jenny points towards the other end of the car where Aviel T. is sitting, not far from another familiar neighborhood face. I don't know him, but Esther tells me his name is Ariel. When she says "Ariel," I think she's referring to "Aviel" and I correct her but she repeats "Ariel". His name is Aviel, I say. She says no, the one in the blue shirt is Ariel, but Aviel and Ariel are both wearing blue. Eventually we sort it out.

Jenny asks where I work but like most people has never heard of the company and can't pronounce the name, so I give her my business card. She works downtown on the East side and loves her job. I notice that she is wearing a red headband that nicely matches her red handbag, which is draped over her black jumper. Esther is wearing a black top and a green sweater but I can't see her skirt at all because she has laid several books across her lap. We are not allowed to talk anymore, she says, because she has to study, lest her professor call on her during class. I protest, but she seems exceedingly tense so I let it go and turn to my Sudoku book to pass the time.

I get off at 59th and say goodbye to Jenny and Esther, and wiz by Aviva P. on the platform as I walk towards my spot.