Jimmy Chile walks fast. I say Rita’s lines about ‘walking too fast’
The agency that placed me at the fruit stand had its representative, my counselor, host a dinner for people like me. Jimmy Chile is like me in the sense that he is not working for the fruit stand, per se, but a paid contractor. As is Violet, and a few other people that I have never mentioned before.

Jimmy Chile and I work a lot together, and so we decided to take a subway up to Times Square, where the restaurant was. Bill has taken some of his passengers before, leaving me to think it was a tourist trap. And having been there, I would have to agree with myself.

Jimmy and I walked to the subway, whereas years ago, when walking with Rita, Rita would complain that I was walking too fast. Now I am saying Rita’s line, trying to keep up with Jimmy Chile, who did make a conscious effort to slow his walk.

The unusual suspects were at the dinner along with my counselor’s husband, with huge guns to accompany his muscled body. The food was served in gigantic portions, designed to be shared by two or three or four, as it was in our case last night.

It was satisfactory, and when I was not eating, I kept my mouth shut. There are more authentic Italian restaurants in Manhattan. This one kept repeating on me before bed. I didn’t drink, though most everyone else around me had the wine.

I try not to eat after 7 PM, so this was out of the ordinary for me. And I am rarely in Times Square, hanging out after work when I just want to go home, but this was an opportunity to prove and to show that I am a team player, willing to break bread over a lackluster meal, which was on someone else’s dime.

It was not a bad time at all. It was the first time we had met the counselor in person, since all other meetings were online. She was nice and pleasant, encouraging us to be more ambitious in our careers, which personally for me is something that is a foreign concept, ambition. I’m 63 right now and could be forced to retire in 2 years, so exactly where would that ambition get me?

I walked to the bus terminal with a gent named Hongki (for real). I rarely go through this depot, although Bill does whenever possible. He gave me the lowdown on where to go and how long I would have to wait and of course, Bill was on the money.

After a wait of less than 10 minutes, I was second in line. I sat in the back of the bus staring out the window while everyone else stared at their phones. As I approached my bus stop, I hit the buzzer above me, but it didn’t work. I got up and stood by the back door and hit two other buzzers, but they were not working either as the bus rolled past the stop I had wanted.

I moved to the front and told the driver the buzzers were not working, and he insisted that they were. Of course they were. I make it a habit of standing around a moving bus and then complaining when the bus driver cannot read my mind.

I was home before Bill, and when he arrived, I told him the story. It turns out he had the same driver, Adam, who drives laid back with his belly on the steering wheel. Bill disputed my side of the story, saying there was no way the buzzers were not working, and that fat Adam more than likely did not activate them.

Back at it. It’s Monday, July 6. Obviously, I did not write for the past few days. Just didn’t feel like it. It was a decent weekend. Mike came over on Friday, and Bill, Mike, and I had a good time hanging out. It was so hot on Thursday, July 2, my fingers were sweating, or actually, the sweat from my arms had trickled to my fingers.

My brother Brian had given me an air conditioner a few years ago and I have used it intermittently. It’s not very strong but can cool off a small room. The air conditioner I bought 26 years ago still works and so that one is in the bedroom. The one Brian gave me is now in the TV/Computer room window. It really makes a difference.

Mike loves hearing Bill’s tales of the road. Bill loves telling his tales of the road. I have heard them a few times so I interject here and there as the stories unfold. I myself have been known to tell a story a few times. I try not to, and find it distressing when Bill tells me otherwise.

July 3rd blended into July 4th, and it was even hotter. The three of us decided to check out the tall ships, but we missed most of them. We walked to the Hudson River on 4th street, making it as far as 3rd street before deciding that was too much and heading home after getting some lunch at the nearby, overpriced supermarket.

More TV was watched in the darkened, air-conditioned room, more food was eaten and more weed was smoked (by me). Mike wants to rent the Michael Jackson biopic. I am reluctant. It is a $20 rental and if he wants it, he can rent it. I’d be willing to wait for the streaming.

The schedule for the night was watching the fireworks that were to begin at 9:25 PM. We were hemming and hawing as to going to the river. We opted to gland found the streets deserted mostly. Hoboken anticipated hordes of people roaming around but it was not to be.

Before we left we saw on TV that the fireworks were starting earlier than 9:25 but we thought we would still have time to see them. We saw the people walking away and figured out for ourselves that we missed the show. Mike was disappointed and Bill and I were ambivalent. I try to maintain a sleep schedule even when I am not working so I went to bed, Bill soon joined me and MIke slept on the couch.

I woke up yesterday to a text from Mike who had to leave before we woke up due to his parole officer being outside his apartment. On a Sunday. During a holiday weekend. Mike had hoped to stay until the afternoon, but it was not to be. We were all very much bummed out at this turn of events.

I did go bicycling yesterday. I did not go the week before, so I had some mileage to make up for. A little over 14 miles. It was not as hot as it had been. I did think about bike riding on Friday, but it was way too hot for that, but yesterday was good.

It was a bit rushed since on the horizon were storm clouds. Those clouds almost prevented me from going cycling but Bill encouraged me to go. No time for the usual 15 minute break under the tree I like with one eye on the gray clouds approaching.

There was a plan for me to go home after bicycling 14 miles, take a shower and change clothes and head out to the supermarket but since I was on the bike I decided to ride up there, get what I could carry in my backpack and head home. That worked out well and I was able to stop and chat with RoDa as his son Logan looked on.

I came up the four flights of steps and was a basic zombie. More physical than mental. It was good to be home in front of the air conditioner. Bill was rehearsing his play that Mike and I are going to see in a week or so, and Mike was at his crib.

I thought about taking a nap but did not want to interfere with my sleep schedule. When I did finally go to sleep I had a disturbing dream where I had signed up for a self-help group that turned out to be a very mean cult. I realized this before I got deeper into it, when I was pursued by henchmen who insisted that I go with them despite my efforts to hide among the people.

It was such an unsettling dream that I got out of bed to pee even though I really didn’t have to, I did it just to get away from the dream.

Tonight I am going to attend a dinner hosted by the company that has placed me at the fruit stand. It’s a free meal and I can’t say no. It starts at 5:30 and is supposed to end at 7:30. It’s at a restaurant in Times Square. I call it a tourist trap though I’ve never been there. Bill has taken his passengers there though and they were mainly tourists.

If the weather was better I would walk but it’s drizzling outside so a subway is in order.