“I am so tired that my body is failing me in different ways”

Dear Diary:

“I’m so tired that my body is failing in so many ways,” I heard a woman behind me say as I crossed a street in Morningside Heights.

“You should do what my grandmother did,” replied her male companion. “Just remove your spleen.”

The woman gasped.

“You can do it?” she said. “Live without a spleen?” “

“Yeah, I mean, she does,” the man said as we reached the other side of the street.

“Well, take it out for me!” The woman said as they walked up Broadway.

– John Finnegan

Dear Diary:

I was on a really good first date in Riverside Park, but I was supposed to meet some friends near the Museum of Natural History.

As I was new to New York, my date gave me directions to the nearest train station. We kissed goodbye, and I started walking towards West 110th Street, glancing at Google Maps every 30 seconds.

As I was walking I heard someone driving down the street shout, “Hey!

I pretended not to notice.

“Hey! Hey you!”

Now other people were looking at me. Oh no.

Reluctantly, I turned my head to see a young man in a van. He stopped at a red light next to me.

“Come here,” he said.

I obeyed. He was smiling.

– She likes you, he said.

“She what?”

“It’s all in the body language,” he said.

I stood there, puzzled.

“This woman you were with, giving you instructions,” said the man in the van. “She loves you. I could tell.”

I cracked a smile.

– Thanks, man, I say. “It’s good news.”

“No problem,” he said. “We have to look out for each other. “

The light changed and he left. I continued to walk, this time without looking at Google Maps.

– Ben Cohen

Dear Diary:

A T-bone steak was traveling on the uptown 1 train on the evening of July 5th. I noticed this quirk when I boarded 34th Street. The steak sat alone at the end of a row of orange seats: fresh, bright red, and wrapped in grocery plastic on a white plastic foam tray.

The passengers were fully distancing themselves, almost avoiding this sighted object. (It looked good, actually.)

I broke the ice.

“Look, a T-bone.”

The couple next to me assumed someone had let him down.

“Director’s special,” the man noted. It was 1.03 lbs, $ 7.99 / lbs, from Ideal Marketplace.

The couple got up to leave. I had taken an open seat across from the steak, so the row was empty again.

“If you want to enjoy this T-bone,” said the man, giving a friendly pat on the back as he got off the train, “that will be our secret.”

At the next stop, a little man in moccasins and without a shirt came up. The white tabletop took up half of the seat next to the door, and he sat on the other half, above the molded edge of the seat. Odd.

“T-bone,” I say, pointing to the meat. “Complete book”.

The man looked at her side. Eventually he got curious, picked up the steak, touched it, and then threw it a seat or two away.

I thought about using the other guy’s cue on him when I left. But I missed my chance. The man in the moccasins hurried out to 86th Street. He had grabbed the steak. And I never promised him it would be our secret.

(Really, I’m sure it was perfectly fine.)

– Paul Klenk

Dear Diary:

One fall morning a few years ago, I decided to walk to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and spend a few hours there before meeting a friend for lunch.

It was one of those days when the weather couldn’t decide between clear and sunny or cool and cloudy. I picked up a sweater from the closet, wrapped it around my waist, and set off.

After wandering around the museum’s galleries for a while, I headed south on Fifth Avenue to meet my friend. The sun had just disappeared behind a large bank of gray clouds, and I was glad I brought a sweater.

Standing in a corner waiting for the lights to change, a man at a hot dog stand waved to me and called me.

“Ma’am, are you walking to 72nd Street?” ” he asked me.

I nodded.

He reached under his cart and pulled out a light blue windbreaker.

“Could you please bring this to my wife?” ” he said. “She has a hot dog cart like this.”

“Sure,” I replied, grabbing the jacket just as the light turned green. The man smiled and waved his hand.

About 10 minutes later, I spotted a shiny steel hot dog cart. A woman stood beside her, her shirt collar pulled up against the cool breeze.

“Your husband sent you this,” I said, handing him the jacket.

“Oh, thank you very much,” she replied with a smile, quickly putting on the jacket. “He is a good man.”

– Faith Andrews Bedford

Dear Diary:

I was crossing a street in Midtown Manhattan. I noticed a man approaching from the left. We reached the corner at the same time.

I stopped to let him pass.

“Please,” he said. “You go. I’m retired. I don’t need to be anywhere.

– Arthur Flug

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