Another day touring the Links of Third Avenue amounted to little more than good exercise. I walked there and back, to 42nd Street. Most of the links worked, but phone calls remain the bugaboo. At more than one Link I had to try three times before a call would connect — it’s always the third time that’s the charm. If I do not get through on the first try I never get through on the second try. Only the third.

I probably shouldn’t say this but using Links in this manner makes me feel poor. This dodgy resource is something that the poor will look to as anything from a convenient distraction to a lifeline. Using Links I start to imagine what that would be like.

I am poor now, according to statistics, but I don’t quite feel it. I still have fallbacks, and I’ve even gotten used to throwing thousands of dollars away on tax penalties. I will make that money back some day. I am not making money because I am in a lasting depression about my life and I find I have little ability to get through this any more. I guess it’s lucky that I have no financial responsibilities to speak of save for rent and utilities, and somehow I am getting by even though it seems like I shouldn’t be. I am not happy with my life these days but that can change. I feel occasional little breakthroughs, or possible eureka moments, where the sun rises on my dark and hoary soul.

Walking back over the Queensboro Bridge today I was surprised when the barista from that tiny coffee shop I go to once in a while appeared. I couldn’t remember his name, nor he mine, but his beautiful companion was named something like Shyla or Sheila. I couldn’t quite understand through her accent. I guess that’s the girl he mentioned that he was seeing, though he’s been notably opaque about certain details while being amazingly confessional about others. I guess I have been the same way with him. it was nice to see happy smiling faces on that bridge. In the past I’ve seen a guy named Ed, but he seems not to recognize me. I talked to him a few times, 5 or 6 years ago, at my former regular bar. Our first conversation, maybe even the first complete sentence he uttered to me, focused on his brain infection and how the surgery had messed with his lucidity and articulateness. I never noticed any blips in his ability to speak clearly. He was a crime scene photographer for the NYPD.

Other than Ed (who I’ve seen several times) I don’t remember ever unexpectedly seeing someone I know on the bridge. Seeing those happy friendly faces today was one of those little eureka moments, though. I felt like the company of people could be a good thing.

Speaking of new and interesting people it looks like I might be collaborating in some way with one Speed Levitch, a tour guide who appears to be quite well-known in his field. He looks like an interesting bloke, as does another dude (can’t think of his name now) who is a film director and soundtrack composer. He’s getting me into the Tribeca Film Festival for free in exchange for being available to do a shoutout at the end ofhis film about an anthropomorphized phone booth.

Or something. I don’t know what that is all about.