I set out late today with a slow & dull brain, crackly joints, baggy eyes, and furrowed brow. I was ready to apologize if I offended anyone’s sensibilities, tripped over any dogs, or walked in front of any cars – I would surely be in the wrong. But something else happened.
While I was staring blankly at my feet, the guy in front of me in the line for the cash machine talked to me as if I weren’t one of the walking dead. I shuffled my feet, pointed at a building or a bird, & grumbled. He commented on how nice the weather was (windy, cloudy, occasional sunbreaks – he has clearly been in this city too long . . . or for just long enough).
I was reading the Times’ comics over a piece of pizza at Pagliacci’s, when a girl who worked there came up and asked if she could read her horoscope over my shoulder. She compared our horoscopes, I attempted to not sound stupid, & our chat even continued slightly beyone the point where I couldn’t provide her with my rising sign.
I stumbled up Broadway and read the white board outside of Bailey-Coy Books, the opening sentance of a book is written there every day & if someone can tell them what book it’s from, they receive a 20% discount. “The idea was that he would keep driving until the money ran out.” I went in and declared, “The Music of Chance!” The bookstore employees were bemused by my enthusiasm.
People in general were just friendly to me today, as if I had the charm turned on and didn’t have a dark cloud hanging over my head.