- You’re standing on a busy street corner. A car runs a red light, hitting a cyclist crossing the intersection.
“I little bit of New York dies in me every time I stop at a cross walk. And who the fuck thought it a good idea to have people wait until a flashing white man says its okay to cross? Don Draper sure the fuck wouldn’t have green lit that shit?” The Don Draper bit is new, his material is getting better. I wonder what this guy does for a living. Same story, different people. Its like he’s introducing himself over and over again. Always breaking the ice. Or maybe he’s buttering them up? I better not stare. I really want to hear the Crosswalk bit. It can’t be far off.
“A couple of Christmases ago, yes! the Crosswalk bit finale, a buddy of mine from the city was visiting and we go out for some drinks, somewhere close, ’cause, you know, he grew up in the city and he doesn’t really drive, and we come up to the cross walk and there’s no cars coming but the don’t walk sign is up so I stop” The New York expat looks for approval,like he’s asking for an “amen” for his acclimation of traffic obedience. As always its given. The expat then says, his “New Yorker” tongue getting thicker, “my buddy looks at me like I just tried to grab his dick or something and says, “what the fuck are doin’?” The expat New Yorker is by this point in the story always full on early Mamet, he continues on in his best ‘American Buffalo’ dialect as he imitates his buddy, “theres no fuckin’ cars in sight and you’re stopping at the fuckin’ corner? Huh? This fuckin’ guy. Hey, get this guy a flannel shirt. He’s one of you now!” The expat brings it home with his usual closing line, “I was so ashamed I told him not to look at me”. His mark or whatever he is laughed. Not from the belly, but from the top of the throat, like he understood it was meant to be funny and intellectually agreed that it was funny, but not funny enough to commit to a laugh from his belly. Didn’t phase the expat though. He really did make the long light at this corner worth while.
The transplant who is “really falling in love with this amazing town” confessed to his client or whatever, “There is so little New York left in me I took an entree size chunk of lox and passed by the bagel altogether at brunch. Next thing you know I’ll be bullying people with courtesy like the fucking bank tellers at Wells Fargo.
He’s really tightening up his delivery, I’ve never heard so much of the story at one light before. Good, orange at the other light. Get my peddle up so I can beat the rush of pedestrians. One good crank and I’ll be on my way to another century ride. Annnnd, the white man says I can go. Thanks for that guy from New York. Whats that popping out from his bag? Something to do with what he does. Some kind of form? What’s all the yelling….light was…re…..