I worked with Mark Warner and Chris Murtaugh about 40 years ago. Good guys, decidedly straight as six o’clock. I last saw one of them maybe 30 years ago when I used to ride my bicycle up to and over the George Washington Bridge. It was on Riverside Drive in the shadow of Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. It was a brief greeting and I never saw whichever one I crossed paths with again.

I may have written about Bill Murphy in a previous post. It took more than 40 years to realize I was probably mean and cruel to him. Looking back I probably took my brother Brian’s cruel line that ‘it looked like someone set his face on fire and put it out with a fork’. Cruel, graphic and albeit, funny.

Did I say that to him without cause or was it in response to something he may have said on the school bus 50 years ago? In any event, he did not let it go for four years and did his best to fuck up my high school years and I am writing about it a half century later.

Elizabeth Baldwin was a sweetheart and a talented woman I worked with at Wollf Olins or as I used to call them McMahon and Tate. Elizabeth was one of the few allies I had working on Varick Street. When we parted ways I believe she was pregnant and now that baby she had is 20 years old.

Betty Colatrella was a funny, acerbic woman who lived above Maxwell’s and waited tables. She previously worked at the Bottom Line and loved music. Betty moved to Colorado, where the climate was better for her encroaching multiple sclerosis. John Ozed was friends with Elizabeth Colatrella and Albert Ross tried to befriend her but was unable to.

Now I am home. It’s a gray evening. Occasional rain, Paterson was on the news because of floods. Rochelle Park was on the news due to a house being shot up last night. I have to say I never thought I would write that line. Rochelle Park was the route I would take on Friday nights from Lodi to the Garden State Plaza in Paramus. Mostly to buy records at Sam Goody with a 30% discount card.

I recall sitting on the floor of the underground concourse hallway and some guy mentioning the B-52’s which prompted me to pul out the famed yellow album of their first record and getting some sort of coolness recognition for it.

Then if I was not getting a blow job in the concourse mens room, or after being fellated I would run across the cloverleaf connecting Routes 17 & 4 to get to Alexander’s department store where most every album was $4.99.

I would also stop at David’s Cookies which was in the basement of Bamberger’s and inhale a few cookies before the trek home down Rochelle Avenue.

Once I got home, my parents would be out at the VFW most Friday nights and I would play my latest purchases on the family stereo, not having a stereo of my own at that time.

I left the fruit stand on Friday afternoon, feeling good. A natural high. It brought mehome and when ZBill opened the door I surprised him with a hug. I was genuinely feeling good and I took note of it and shared it with Bill.

Mike was supposed to come over but said he had a call from PSE&G asking him to be available for a meter reading on Saturday morning. So he was not coming over on Friday. That was fine, no big loss. Bill and I watched the Hannah Waddingham and Olivia Spencer show Ride or Die. They’re best friends, and Olivia did not know that Hannah was an assassin.

It’s funny and has some good lines. One of the students from the History Boys plays Olivia Spencer’s husband, who is a cad. One episode was all we watched, figuring we’d watch the others if & when Mike arrived. The usual routine happened, Bill going to bed and me joining him about 30 minutes later.

Saturday was a gorgeous day, Bill and I made the trip to the supermarket, Mike’s PSE&G appointment was pushed back. It all seemed rather sketchy. I figured Mike had a play date since PSE&G doesn’t usually play those scheduling games, at least not with me. He showed up later in the afternoon.

The St. Ann’s feast was going on, and the plan was to go to that on Saturday evening. I was hesitant but relented since Mike wanted to experience it and Bill and I last went there around 22 years ago. Around 7 PM we headed out. And it was as I expected. Not much fun, people were walking in baby steps since it was so crowded.

Mike and Bill rolled the dice and got sausage sandwiches. I love the smell of sausage but not much of a fan of how they taste. I opted for some pizza from across the street from our flat. We’ve been watching Ted Lasso again, for a recharge of positivity as well as the anticipation for the return of the show.

Bill was off to bed early since he was getting up early in the morning. Bill packed up his gear, and Mike helped bring it down to the first floor so as not to disturb the neighbors at 4 AM. Then it was Mike and me and I was soon horizontal next to Bill as Mike stayed up and made his videos.

I did the bike ride, 12.88 miles. It was a pleasant ride, I complimented a few people as I pedalled past. I took the usual photos and after my break, was feeling so good, riding without my hands on the handlebar. Just staring into space, hands free and I hit a pothole which ended that reverie. Nothing happened and I quickly gathered my wits.

The past week or so, there have been a few videos on social media, mainly men who have jumped a few steps on a staircase, then they wind up dead. It’s not as ghastly as it sounds, they’re generally pretty funny, if not silly. It’s so ingrained in my consciousness that I actually turned my head to make sure I was not laying in the street next to that unforeseen pothole I had just rode into…
Spoiler alert- I am still alive.

I was feeling good throughout the weekend, going to work was not a bad thing. I got to work at my usual early time and set about starting my day. There were some fruit stand requests from over the weekend and I took care of one of them. I read the request as it happening tomorrow, Tuesday and when I sent it out, I saw it was actually for Thursday.

This is what upsets Yancy as well as upsetting me. I was hasty and immediately took measures to correct the date for the request, all within a minute but that is all it takes: one minute that didn’t have to be if only I was not so hasty. And it was a dumb mistake that I regretfully made.

After that, all was quiet at the fruit stand. I did not have my lunchtime cigar with me and felt it was just as well since I may have been smoking too much. But the addict crept forth, and I walked to get a cigar that would have been cheaper in Hoboken.

As I sat and puffed away, I started getting anxious and saw sadness on the horizon, thinking about the mistake I had made earlier. I did some breathing exercises that I do every night. They’re also mentioned in Ted Lasso so I felt somewhat validated. The cigar was good; too good to rush through, and it was on the strong end of the scale.

I was soon upstairs at the fruit stand taking care of what needed to be done.