It was raining here a few nights ago. But nobody told me and I no longer go anywhere near the window that faces the street. Not since the accident. In consequence, I wasn't wearing the right clothes. I was expecting a dry, bitterly cold night. Not the mild, rainy night I found.
To protect myself from the conditions I expected, I was wearing highly absorbent "Polar Tech." I didn't have an umbrella. Walking home, close to midnight, with three bags of groceries, I stayed close to the buildings, under the overhangs, trying to stay dry. I was hoping to avoid the hassle of getting my clothes professionally dried and, even more, that my watch would still work when I got home.
It isn't an underwater watch, after all. It's good to a depth of zero. It overreacts to fog. All it is, is the big old, dinged up Omega "Chronograph" I got from my stepmother after my father died.
Probably not certain he even intended to give the watch to me, he never bothered to explain it before I snapped the metal band around my left wrist,.
But you walk in the rain at night and you see things. A couple of bodegas still open. A subway train pulls into the station and a voice inside makes an announcement I can't quite hear. Two or three people hurry past me. But you sometimes see things in the rain that make you forget about yourself and the rain and everything you ever thought you knew about doing whatever it takes to stay alive.
A homeless man had set up for the night in front of the post office. I'd seen him there other times, living and sleeping in a pile of cardboard, plastic supermarket bags, newspapers and garbage.
He was hunched over, doing something with his hands. When I got closer I saw what it was. He was giving himself a manicure, using both a trimmer and a cuticle tool that resembles a blunted knife. Every few seconds the man stopped and held out both hands, palms down, to appraise his work.
"I couldn't do that," I thought, "None of it. Not in a million years."
When I got home, I piled my soaked clothes on top of the radiator in the living room. They'd be dry in an hour. The rain continued until just past dawn. I was dry for the night.
To protect myself from the conditions I expected, I was wearing highly absorbent "Polar Tech." I didn't have an umbrella. Walking home, close to midnight, with three bags of groceries, I stayed close to the buildings, under the overhangs, trying to stay dry. I was hoping to avoid the hassle of getting my clothes professionally dried and, even more, that my watch would still work when I got home.
It isn't an underwater watch, after all. It's good to a depth of zero. It overreacts to fog. All it is, is the big old, dinged up Omega "Chronograph" I got from my stepmother after my father died.
Probably not certain he even intended to give the watch to me, he never bothered to explain it before I snapped the metal band around my left wrist,.
But you walk in the rain at night and you see things. A couple of bodegas still open. A subway train pulls into the station and a voice inside makes an announcement I can't quite hear. Two or three people hurry past me. But you sometimes see things in the rain that make you forget about yourself and the rain and everything you ever thought you knew about doing whatever it takes to stay alive.
A homeless man had set up for the night in front of the post office. I'd seen him there other times, living and sleeping in a pile of cardboard, plastic supermarket bags, newspapers and garbage.
He was hunched over, doing something with his hands. When I got closer I saw what it was. He was giving himself a manicure, using both a trimmer and a cuticle tool that resembles a blunted knife. Every few seconds the man stopped and held out both hands, palms down, to appraise his work.
"I couldn't do that," I thought, "None of it. Not in a million years."
When I got home, I piled my soaked clothes on top of the radiator in the living room. They'd be dry in an hour. The rain continued until just past dawn. I was dry for the night.
Rob, Interesting monologue...needs editorial help...Let's talk! You got my CW email a couple weeks ago? 845-424-4042! Su amigo, Guillermo
ReplyDeletei know, I know. How late is it cool to call you? Going to movies. Home by 11 Otherwise, I'll call in the AM.
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