‘I Noticed a Building Handyman Washing Down the Sidewalk'

New York Times

7 hours ago

Handy Hose
Dear Diary:
It was a hot, sticky July morning. I had just ridden a Citi Bike across Central Park to the East Side for an appointment with my chiropractor.
I docked the bike and began walking up Second Avenue thinking about how dirty my hands were and where I might wash them before getting my usual egg sandwich.
Just ahead, I noticed a building handyman washing down the sidewalk. I decided to approach him.
'Good morning,' I said in a cheery voice. 'Would you mind washing off my hands with your power hose?'
His expression widened into a huge grin.
'Why of course,' he said.
He motioned me over to a nearby hedge so that he could rinse my hands off out of the way of the sidewalk.
I held my hands out over the hedge, palms up, and he sprayed them both with a cool blast of water. I thanked him profusely, and he smiled again.
I think we made each other's day.
— Carol Mills
Fluttering Bills
Dear Diary:
I was trudging up Union Street in Brooklyn on a hot summer morning. In front of me, a few bills fluttered out of a man's pocket and fell on the ground.
A younger man walking in our direction nodded at the cash.
'Yo,' he said to the older man, who picked up the bills.
'Thank you!' the older man said.
The younger man grinned.
'Could have been my breakfast,' he said.
— Lisa Goldstein
Upstairs, Downstairs
Dear Diary:
It was the 1980s. I was in my 20s and living in Park Slope. I spent many afternoons at Farrell's bar in nearby Windsor Terrace.
One afternoon, after enjoying a couple of containers of Budweiser at Farrell's, I headed home to watch 'The Morton Downey Jr. Show' on my brand-new, 19-inch Sony television with the volume turned way up.
After about five minutes, I heard a loud banging at my door. I looked out my peephole but saw no one.
Then I heard a voice shout: 'Sonny, Sonny.'
I opened the door and saw my upstairs neighbor.
I asked how I could help.
She said she could hear the TV in her living room.
I asked if I could go upstairs with her to hear for myself.
Upon entering her apartment, I saw that it was a bit of a shambles. I felt like Pip going into Miss Havisham's house in 'Great Expectations.' The paint on the walls and ceilings was peeling badly. There was little furniture and no TV.
I told her to hold on and that I would be right back.
I went downstairs, unplugged the TV and brought it upstairs. I put it on a table in the living room, plugged it in, turned it on and told the woman to enjoy. I went back downstairs and passed out.
When I woke up the next morning, I went into the living room and remembered what I had done the night before.
I soon heard a banging on the door and a familiar voice: 'Sonny, Sonny.'
I opened the door and saw my upstairs neighbor. She handed me an envelope with a thank-you note inside.
Seeking comfort, I headed back to Farrell's knowing I had nothing else to give away.
— Timothy Dwyer
The Brick
Dear Diary:
In my Brooklyn youth, fireworks were an amazement. I hunted firecrackers on the ground, searching for ones that had not gone off among the confetti litter of those that had.
Kids said fireworks could be bought at Stacy Car Service, a long bike ride away. If I was caught with them, I knew that between the cops, my father and the nuns, I would be seriously dead. It happens.
I pooled my allowance and coins I had hustled running errands for my grandmother. I made that long bike ride, farther than I had ever gone before.
I waited in a dim stairwell next door to Stacy's. A man appeared.
'I want a brick,' I said. A brick: 80 packs of 16 firecrackers for a total of 1,280.
I handed over the money.
The man left and returned shortly with a rumpled grocery sack containing the contraband.
'Don't tell anyone,' he said.
On the long ride home, clutching the bag to my handlebars, I realized that this was the riskiest thing I had ever done.
Back at home, the brick was wrapped in red wax paper with a label that showed a black cat and Chinese script.
There was a single fuse if you wanted to light the entire brick at once, an unbelievable extravagance to ponder.
Somehow, I survived the wonders of my youth.
— Vincent P. Barkley
Likely Story
Dear Diary:
It was a bright, sunny summer day, and I was waiting outside Broadway Farm on the Upper West Side while my father picked up a couple of items.
As I waited, a woman walked by talking on her phone. I caught a snippet of her conversation.
'Don't worry,' I heard her say. 'I'm on the subway.'
— Al Vyssotsky
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