Boxing

The cat jumps up on the bed where Katie lies and stalks over to the crescent of her body. She throws herself down into the crook of Katie’s body and begins to purr.

I turn on the boxing match where Netflix is trying to reinvent HBO. It’s fine.

Fine, I’ll Be Nice

The couple and their enormous suitcases finally manage to shove their way onto the subway car, despite the conductor repeatedly closing the doors on them. I and the entire car watched them struggle and did nothing, and then, when they’re aboard, there’s no place for them to sit together.

A woman sitting next to me gets up and moves to another part of the car, leaving a seat. I see what she’s up to, and after a bear, I reluctantly get up and clear a spot for the tourist couple to sit. 

Moe Line Drama

The normally orderly line to get into the co-op seems particularly disheveled today, with group of people milling about the entrance in clumps and going in whenever they want to.

“Bit chaotic today, isn’t it?” I ask the guy behind me. He smiles noncommittally.

“Well, I’m going to uphold civilization,” I reassure him, and he laughs.

Like Bubba from Forest Gump, but Playlists

“I had a playlist for Halloween, but people like to go straight for the Thanksgiving music as soon as Halloween is over,” the driver for my Lyft says as I scan the QR code he’s helpfully provided to direct me to his Spotify profile. “I started doing it because I would put on other people’s playlists when I started ridesharing, and some of the lyrics weren’t family-friendly, so then I just started making my own playlists, and people said they like them, so I’ve got a classic list, and an R&B list, and pop list, and they’re all Thanksgiving songs.”

As I’m getting out of the car he’s still talking. “So if you like them, tell your friends, tell your enemies, tell everybody and give me a follow.” 

(Almost) My Last Post

The roses in the churchyard along the sidewalk are out late this year: salmon pink, elegant, and entirely incongruous in November. I stop, reach up, and pull one down to my face, and my nose fills with delicate fragrance.

The guy who was walking behind me catches up and passes me, and the waft of his cigarette mingles with the scent of the rose, not unpleasantly.

I’m thinking of these things as I continue walking, mulling them over for, perhaps, a poem, when a car honks, and I realize in my distraction I’ve walked out into the crosswalk with no regard for the light; I wave an apology and continue on my way.

Good Advice

Charlie and Goose are two Doberman Pinschers that regularly visit the booth where Katie sells her work. We’ve become friendly with their owners too.

Today, they all came in, the dogs gentle and supportive, the couple sad and depressed.

“We have to take care of each other,” I said over and over while petting the dogs.

Leaving Their Mark

Someone has slapped a TRUMP 2024 sticker up on this ad in the subway station, raising the question of whether or not it’s even possible to deface an eyesore; regardless, I simply can’t allow this kind of blatant bullshit to remain out here, polluting the world.

But as I begin to peel the offending thing off, the diabolical strategy of its perpetrator reveals itself: they’ve used a cheap, thin paper to print the sticker, and a super-strong glue for sticking, meaning that any attempt to remove it will, unless done carefully, leave an ugly residue of torn paper and adhesive, marring permanently anything it’s touched. 

I slow down, delicately working my fingernail all around the edge of the sticker to lift it, then applying even pressure as I pull, and while there’s still a shadow left behind, unless you’re looking for it, you’d hardly know it had ever even been.

But I know it was there, and wasn’t that the vandal's intention all along?