The other day in that same park where all crazy experiences happen, I met a man from (I think) Jamaica. He approached me and instead of saying hello, like I would to meet someone new, he asks me "Have we met before?" Great. I don't do well with lame introductions like this.
No, I'm sure we haven't.
"Well do ya have a smoke?"
Nope. Sorry.
"I can see ya busy. I don't mean to bawtha ya. I'm sorry."
No- you're not bothering me. I'm just on the phone. So I can't talk right now!
"Ok, I'll come back then."
Great.
After I'm off the phone, he returns.
"What's ya name, love?"
Oh, Molly.
"I grew up with a gawl called Molly. She be tiny. And beautiful. And I lawved her. But she gone off an got mawrried now."
And that was our interaction. And now I see him like every other day! And we always have the same conversation. He asks my name, I tell him. He tells me what a small, beautiful girl that Molly he grew up with was. Tells me how he loved her. And then we keep walking.
I think we'll be best friends someday. He's one of the only people I see consistently, strangely. I haven't had those everyday people yet: that guy on the 8:33 train with the blue book or that woman on the corner of Wabash and Roosevelt at 8:56 with her Starbucks coffee and pink razor phone. Hopefully soon. I could use some normalcy.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
I haven't seen it yet, but i want to. Have you?
Maybe you should have your new friend over for dinner...you know, like a dinner party. no?
Post a Comment