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“Two frozen margaritas later, we agreed to do it again in a month”


Dear Diary:

On a hot weekday in July, a colleague and I had dinner and drinks at a restaurant on Front Street in Manhattan.

Two frozen margaritas later, we agreed to start over in a month.

“Are you taking the train?” ” she asked.

– No, I said, smiling. “I’m going to head for the seaport. Take the last ferry.

At Pier 11 on Wall Street, I caught the attention of a worker in uniform and pointed to Sheet A.

“Does the ferry to the Bronx always leave from there?” ” I asked.

“None of our ferries go to the Bronx,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oh, of course not,” I replied, remembering that the financial district was now a tourist destination. “How about a ferry to Soundview / Clason Point?” “

“Yes”, he said, nodding his head and pointing to sheet A. “Departure at 9:15 am. “

– Pamela Horitani


Dear Diary:

It was 1985 and I was starting the graduate acting program at New York University – a really big deal, especially for a rube like me from Indianola, Iowa.

After an $ 85 cab ride from La Guardia, what can I say? I was an easy mark – I checked into graduate student housing on East 26th Street between First and Second Avenues.

My assigned roommate was Mark, an MBA student from New Jersey who spent most of his time potatoes on the couch. I quickly changed so that I could stay with my classmate Meghan.

Meg was also a rube, from Hayward, Calif. We decided to learn the city by “walking the greens”. We would start at 26th Street East and only cross the streets where the green lights permitted. It didn’t matter which direction, as long as there was a green light.

One day we ended up at East 79th Street and Fifth Avenue. We walked into the Met and our lives were changed forever.

– Tim Thomas


Dear Diary:

A friend and I were walking along East 46th Street when I sneezed. There were two men walking behind us.

“Be blessed,” said one of them.

“Thank you,” I say.

A moment later, I’m sneezing again.

“Gesundheit,” said the second man.

– Thank you, I say again.

Half an hour later, we arrived at my friend’s apartment building on East 47th Street. As we approached the elevator, we saw the same two men. They held the door for us.

“Oh, look,” one of them said as we entered. “It’s the sneeze. “

– Beth Kehoe


Dear Diary:

My first job when I moved to New York was as a bicycle courier. Despite all the negatives, at least I got in shape and learned to cope in the city.

Rumor had it that they gave the recruits the more difficult routes. And I was a rookie.

“Pick up the package at Broadway and 125th Street and deliver it to Broadway and Wall Street,” the dispatcher said.

Ended. I called from a pay phone for the next job.

“Pick up the letter at Lexington and 68th Street and deliver it to Amsterdam and 150th Street.”

Etc. One letter, one package at a time. Not the many letters and light packages the veterans received, in sequential order: 10 in a row, maybe more – and a full row, north to south.

At one point, as I walked down Broadway just south of Times Square, taxis and race buses, and other bicycle couriers, I prepared to turn onto 38th Street. I held out my left hand, signaling to everyone what I was going to do.

“Do not do that !” shouted a bicycle courier next to me. He was dressed in elbow pads and duct tape and was obviously a pro. “Nobody cares about you and what you intend to do! Never let go of your handlebars!

“OK,” I shouted back. “Thanks for the advice!”

Just then, as I turned, I glanced at him.

With his right hand, he gripped the rear bumper of a delivery truck, grabbing a free ride as far as he wanted down Broadway.

– Doug Sylver


Dear Diary:

We were late for Brooklyn, so we took a cab. My three friends got into the backseat and I jumped in the front.

The driver played classic French ballads from the 1960s. He told me he was 79 and had been listening to these songs since he was probably my age.

From the back of the taxi, a friend of mine shouted that I was French and asked me if I recognized any of the songs.

When we pulled up to a traffic light, the driver pulled out an album full of CDs. He picked one, put it in the player, and hit play. “And Yet” by Charles Aznavour entered.

“Ah! ” I said. “That one, I know him. “

“Good!” he has answered.

The first notes started playing and we both started singing.

-Olivia Bensimon

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Illustrations by Agnès Lee





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