A not-so-sure-footed Tuesday morning. Bill hovered over me as I lay in bed around 6:00 this morning, kissing me goodbye, wishing me well, and I woke up 20 minutes later before my alarm clock. I did my routine at the slow, steady pace that I usually do, and checking the news before I left, I saw online that the PATH train was suspended from Hoboken to midtown due to smoke conditions in the tunnel.

I checked a few times after that, and not much had changed, so that meant I had to take the bus into the city. And I was able to do that, I confirmed with Bill the proper trains to take from 42nd Street down to Union Square, and I was able to do just that, it wasn’t a bad ride. I figured I was going to be late getting to work, which meant for me, 5 minutes late, it turns out I was 10 minutes early.

As I was putting around the apartment, Mike had told me to let me know that his day was starting off quite badly once again, not my story, I’ll leave it to Mike to tell whenever he gets it together to tell his story. Bill is off to an amusement park with students from the Bronx Middle School.

1:00 p.m. walkabout, walking around the same area I walked around yesterday, but in a different direction. Retracing the ghost steps from 19 years ago, I’m sure he is a ghost now. A cigar ghost at that. West 10th Street it’s a beautiful block, and I think the Greenwich Village Center for Psychotherapy was here, but I’m not sure. In any event, that was almost 40 years ago.

I am 99% certain that the address was 60 West 10th Street, where the ghost lived, or could have been 66 West 10th Street. Walking up Greenwich Avenue, wondering where that bar was, I used to go with Pedro. About to walk past where Uncle Charlie’s was, remembering Travis from Texas, whom I met in DC, whose story I will tell later.

I walked up Greenwich Avenue to 7th Avenue and over 16th Street, and now I’m back on 5th Avenue where I started.

It’s a beautiful summer day on June 3rd a Tuesday

Just looking at the mini cigar, and when I’m done with it, I will more than likely go back upstairs to my desk to show that I am a worker and I am taking half my lunch hour just to prove something that I have no idea what it is I am proving.

Heading into work was quite easy this morning, despite the trains not working, and I had to take a bus and then a Subway, still, I got to work 10 minutes early.

Three women dressed in black stand in front of me; they are the women who are pictured. Don’t know what else to say. Could it be I am at a loss for words? I wore a jacket to work today, it might be the last time I wear a jacket until the autumn.
The trains are running like they should, so tonight going home should not be a problem, and having just posted that, I hope I did not jinx it. I’m giving myself 5 more minutes before I go back inside.

Can you buy me a soda?

Marjorie Williams

It’s a beautiful June 2nd…a Monday. It had been a pretty good weekend, Mike hanging out with Bill and me, and things went quite well. A lot of time just sitting around talking, which reminded me of the old days in the ’80s, just hanging out with friends in the apartment, talking, sometimes drinking, sometimes smoking, but always talking

Mike was planning on coming over and leaving today, but it turned out that last night was when he went back to his crib, which was fine. It had been a good Sunday. I had done over 14 miles, close to 15 miles on my bicycle, scored 135 heart points, which turned out to be good.

The ride was uneventful, a little windy but nothing insurmountable. Once again, the main issue I have with bike riding is people not paying attention to their surroundings and perhaps I have been that way in the past, but on the bicycle, you have to pay attention to what’s in front of you.

Today at lunch, I sit in the shadow of the office building I work in, close to the corner of 16th and 5th, smoking a mini cigar and just watching the parade pass by.

Bill has driven some high school students to Tilted Acres from the movie Hairspray in 1988. He should be coming back tonight.

I posted Marjorie Williams’ name at the top. Marjorie Williams was known to my family at least my siblings, as Mrs. Williams, nee Klatt. I grew up at 13 Riverview, and the Williams family lived at 7 Riverview. I spent a lot of time at 7 Riverview, so much so that I can remember a lot of details about their house.

I thought they were a hip, together family, but it turns out they were probably more messed up than we were. But Marjorie Williams was beautiful.

My brother Frank had a crush on her and wrote a fan letter that there was never sent but was discovered by my mother, much to my brother’s embarrassment. A favorite memory of mine was being at 7 Riverview and watching the movie Camelot on television.

Perhaps I am juxtaposing images, but I swear Mrs Williams was as beautiful as Vanessa Redgrave in Camelot, singing along to some of the songs. I saw her as a strong woman, but in reality, she might have been more vulnerable than I realized. Barbara Williams, the youngest daughter, was at Frank’s wake.

She may have been taken aback by my statement that she was the first friend I had ever had. Years later, when high school happened, I didn’t see her that much and hung out with her younger brother Scott, who was 6 years younger than me.

Barbara later married someone who beat me up during summer recreation in Lodi, New Jersey. I took it as a betrayal, but how did she know? Barbara and I did work together in the HBJ book warehouse, and she was driving before I was, so she generally gave me a ride home at the end of our shift. My brother Frank worked with her in the same building in Hackensack New Jersey and that’s how he reconnected with Barbara Williams.