restroom

I stepped off the 19 Polk with a mad grin.  The driver had been brilliant, announcing all the stops and transfer points, and even complimenting riders as they stepped onto the bus. “I love those boots, girl!” “C’mon up, beautiful!” She told me she loved my hat and called me cute as I thanked her and hopped off. Trader Joe’s was aflutter with pre-dinner preparations. The cashier tried to make small-talk with the women in front of me, but they were dour and busy. He gave me a look and a shrug as if to say, I tried. He, too, complimented my hat, so I thanked him, and we exchanged those small pleasantries that make the line go faster. As I was waiting for the 27 Bryant in an unfamiliar part of town, a young man, scruffy but cogent,...

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Posted on 9 Apr 2009 | 1 comment

missing

What I will/won’t miss about my flat: pimp/ho fisticuffs during the wee hours; siren orchestra of Fire Station #3; the little man who slept by the front door of my building who would always say he was sorry when I tiptoed past; surly neighbors; always-packed laundromat; lanky smokers in front of the corner bar, all elbows and coals; lack of street-lamps; single-paned windows; tissue-thin taxi brakes; the 2, 3, and 4 bus lines, especially that tschhhhhh noise; the Angriest Beggar who called me “sweetheart” when he needed anything and “bitch” when he realized he wasn’t going to get it … every single time; bridge-and-tunnel screechers after the bars close; and every single unexplained loud noise in the night. It’s...

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Posted on 1 May 2008 | 3 comments