Thursday afternoon, lunchtime. Sitting in Union Square. I don’t recall the last time I was here. It may have been 24 years ago. I do have memories here. I remember being with Julio in the nineties and seeing Daniel Day Lewis on a park bench. He had a look on his face that discouraged interaction, and so we didn’t interact with him.

I also remember being with Bill after 9/11 and writing “and still we rise” on a sheet of remembrance. Like everything else, it’s different than what it used to be. Farfetched was a few blocks south of here, and that no longer exists. If Farfetched were still around, I’d probably be visiting Susan and Lois. The Virgin megastore is long gone.

I can’t make out who is crazy and talking to themselves and who is merely on a phone call, wearing earbuds. The smell of weed permeates everywhere these days. Such a pungent aroma that it smells artificial. The sun is beaming in my black jeans.

A Moody Blues song plays in my head, but I couldn’t tell you the name of the song. I found a shade of your spot, sitting comfortably near some guy who’s playing Wonderwall on an acoustic guitar with a microphone so you can sing the lyrics out loud.

He seems older than I am and playing an Oasis song, but I can’t tell if he is older than me or younger than me, which has been the case lately. Younger people look and behave older than me, and older people look and behave younger than me, and then there’s me, who could only be me.

I took off from work yesterday since I didn’t sleep well the night before and wasn’t feeling well in my gastrointestinal area. I didn’t feel any guilt from that since I think I made the right decision until I spoke to Bill last night and he asked me how work was, and I told him the truth.

Spirits crashed, and guilt set in. I tried to make amends, and I hope I made amends by showing up in the office earlier and setting about starting the day, getting things done before 8:00 a.m., whether or not that was noticed, I’ll never know.

My direct manager, Beresford Marcus, seems to be a mellow kind of guy. A bit distant perhaps, but I don’t know how that stands, whether or not he’s being distant with me or just in general. I will just keep showing up and doing what I do until they say we don’t want you to do what you do anymore, please leave. Was it ballsy to take a day off in my third week of employment?

As I sit and you didn’t square writing and dictating into my phone, I realize that I am not one of those people who have my phone out all the time, only I’m not looking at things online, I’m actually writing something or at least dictating something. This is a lot more conducive and comfortable area than Tribeca ever was, at least in the past 3 years that I was working there. This guy playing the acoustic guitar seems to be doing an Oasis tribute.

I also saw the twins from the train the other day, walking through Church Square Park this morning. Seemed like a good omen.