Conversation
I am standing on West Broadway, looking at an oversized inflatable globe hanging from the storefront awning of a children's toy store. An old man, smoking a cigarette through a gap in his missing front teeth, puts his hand on my shoulder.
"Where do you want to go?" he asks.
I spin the globe and point to Bangladesh. "Around here."
"You want to know how to get there?"
"What's the best way?"
"You gotta fly there. On an airplane! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
I ask where he wants to go, and he looks around on the globe and finds France. "Paris!" he says and then points down around the southern coast, "and down around here, too. But not for too long, then I'll fly back. On a plane! Ha! Ha!"
"Why don't you stay around there for a while?"
"I gotta come back for the prime rib." Smiling, he glances over at two girls who just walked by, "there goes some prime rib right now. Ha! Ha! None of that in France."
"I think you'd be surprised!"
"Naw, in France they've got veggies. Sugar. Down in Marseilles, all those nice vineyards. But we got that right here, too! Heck, in my neighborhood there's a guy still making bathtub gin! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
He pats me on the arm, takes a drag of the stub of his cigarette, and waves behind his back as he crosses Duane and West Broadway diagonally across the intersection.
"Where do you want to go?" he asks.
I spin the globe and point to Bangladesh. "Around here."
"You want to know how to get there?"
"What's the best way?"
"You gotta fly there. On an airplane! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
I ask where he wants to go, and he looks around on the globe and finds France. "Paris!" he says and then points down around the southern coast, "and down around here, too. But not for too long, then I'll fly back. On a plane! Ha! Ha!"
"Why don't you stay around there for a while?"
"I gotta come back for the prime rib." Smiling, he glances over at two girls who just walked by, "there goes some prime rib right now. Ha! Ha! None of that in France."
"I think you'd be surprised!"
"Naw, in France they've got veggies. Sugar. Down in Marseilles, all those nice vineyards. But we got that right here, too! Heck, in my neighborhood there's a guy still making bathtub gin! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
He pats me on the arm, takes a drag of the stub of his cigarette, and waves behind his back as he crosses Duane and West Broadway diagonally across the intersection.