Neighbors moved out this week. I did not know them. They never said one word to me, nor I to them. I don’t think they spoke English. Everybody in that small studio seemed unhappy. I never saw smiles, and the only laughter I heard came from the little kid. Three humans lived there, while another babysitter — who I think was a relative — seemed to be around almost every day. I would see the father out and around, just walking, and I’d think “That dude is getting some alone time.” Good for him.
I had a somewhat weird encounter with him a few weeks ago. I was passing an apartment building on 30th Street when he emerged from the front door, hauling a bag of garbage. Just weird seeing a neighbor in another context, or in this case another apartment building. We made direct eye contact for a few moments, seeming to acknowledge the weirdness of the moment, but no words were spoken.
Before those folks moved in a young couple lived in that studio. I don’t think I ever talked to them either, but I realized one day that I think they wanted to say something to me. It was after Jack died. Jack lived downstairs from them. He had been dead in his apartment for days before the inevitable stench of the body filled the air of the building lobby and, unfortunately for those young folks, their apartment. That must have been awful. The day after Jack was taken away I saw them exiting their apartment, looking at me with frazzled grins, as if they wanted to talk. Nothing really occurred to me except to say hello, which I did. But I think they wanted to commiserate on having to live with that unique odor in their space. They must have thought the smell reached in to my apartment, too. But it did not. I remember noticing it, though, as did my girlfriend at the time who later said “Yeah, when I came over last night I thought ‘Something stinks!'” But she didn’t say anything when she got upstairs.
I intended to walk to Middle Village today, to get a good long walk in before the cold snap. But I lost momentum in West Maspeth. Did not even make it to the Goodfellas Diner, which is a favorite spot in Queens. Ate nothing but a banana today. I saw a couple of those awful LinkNYC devices on Queens Boulevard.
…
I just bumped into a guy named Thomas, who I met maybe 3 years ago. When we met I said to him “My name is Mark.” He responded: “Thomas.” I thought it sounded strange that he seemed to have filled in my last name, but then I quickly realized his first name was Thomas. It was good for a laugh. I see him around here a fair amount but he usually just sort of grunts at me. Today we chatted amiably. He’s out of work so not going out much. He’s taking care of 2 elderly parents, and generally just walking around and around the area, just like me. He asked if I was still doing the music. I said yes but didn’t remember to say that I recorded what I think is a sweet bit of background music for my podcast, or whatever that is I do at the Calvary Chapel. I entered the chapel today, but only for a few seconds. Just wanted to see if anything had changed at my chapel.
At the ghetto coffee shop, listening to the N or W train rumble past.
