Unhappily from where I sat, he plopped down
directly opposite me. What had been a relatively quiet journey—without incident or
an uncomfortable moment—in the land down under became creepy awkward in a New
York minute. The inebriate was on the young side—late twenties, maybe early
thirties—and not especially menacing. He was, though, clearly under the
influence, which created an unpredictability that I would rather avoid,
particularly while in subway car in a tunnel during a pandemic. The man glared my way from
time to time and muttered various asides. I tried not to meet his leering
drunken stare, but it’s not so easily accomplished when you’re sitting less
than six-feet apart. In a snapshot in time when we are regularly importuned to maintain
at least that distance as much as physically possible, who needs a loose-canon
tippler in droplet range?
Straightaway, I contemplated employing my subway-riding
nuclear option: the “Charles Manson Rule,” where I make like a tree and
leave. Initially, though, I didn’t think this snookered rider merited such a bold
move. And, too, I prayed his ride might be a brief one—assuming, of
course, he knew where he was going. And so it went—50th Street, 59th
Street, 66th Street—and he’s still sitting directly across from me and getting
increasingly chatty and a bit louder, too. When this hammered straphanger emptied out the
remaining quarter of his beer on a subway car door beside him, it was definitely time to
go. I don’t know where he came from or where he was going, but I hope he made
it there safely. Maybe, too, he got doubly fined at some point between my
departure and his arriving at said destination. It would have taught him a valuable lesson: Drinking and riding the subway without a mask during the pandemic is most assuredly a
no-no.
After being on Facebook for ten years, I'm not so certain about the latter.
All's fare again with mass transit.
But is it too little, too late? Electronic subway message boards are now informing riders about the system's dire financial straits and absolute need of federal monies to survive.
A mostly peaceful protester strikes again and the rest of us are less informed because of it.
I requested my absentee ballot and am putting my trust in the United States Post Office, where my father tirelessly labored for over a quarter of a century in the building above.
Recently, important business leaders sent a letter to the city's mayor, imploring him to put away his fiddle and do something about—well—everything, including the unsightly garbage piling up all over the place.
These ubiquitous messes just compound the overall mess.
We just want to see some light at the end of the 2020 tunnel.
People who need people are the luckiest people in the world. Now all we need are the people.
Fortunately, there are brief escapes from reality at our fingertips, like binge-watching Cobra Kai on Netflix. Despite a series of incredible coincidences and people getting brutally kicked in the face a lot without any physical consequences, it was a whole lot more compelling than The Karate Kid. Plaudits to William Zabka.
It depends on what the meaning of "open" is. On September 30th, eateries can begin indoor dining at twenty-five percent capacity. Will that be enough to stave off a restaurant apocalypse? The Good Stuff diner, which I photographed a couple of weeks with its outdoor dining, has shut its doors.
The Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) workers kept the trains and buses running during the depths of the pandemic. They really deserve a break today.
While ridership is definitely picking up somewhat compared with its nadir, it's got a long, long way to go to be back where it was in early March. And the MTA was money-challenged even in the best of times.
There were a smattering of tourists around and visiting Lady Liberty. I wondered where they came from and how they got here with all the travel restrictions and quarantines.
Who exactly is "We?"
The hot dog vendors? They love New York and valiantly endure.
The NYPD on horseback in tranquil Times Square. Such are these non-tranquil times...
It's 2020. Is there an alternative?
(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)
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