Thursday morning. I tell myself that I do my best writing in the morning. Whether or not it’s true remains to be seen. I was on the phone last night with Bill and Mike which overall was a couple of hours. Right now I am in an on camera meeting with my fellow fruit pickers and overseers. So far nothing has been said regarding the intruder the other day when I was out.
Listening to Girl Talk right now. Night Ripper. Been quite a while since I last played. More memories of Juan. Juan and I saw Greg Gillis aka Girl Talk at Terminal 5, 16 years ago.
Also dealing with the once very good TDBank, now they are awful. Reliability is a thing of the past it seems. If you misplaced your debit card they could replace it within minutes, it would only take a ten minute trip to a branch. When I discovered my debit card was misplaced on Sunday I figured that is what I would need to do.
When I got to the branch across from the fruit stand I approached the teller and explained what I needed. They informed me that they don’t do that anymore. I asked since when and they said it started (or stopped) in Jan 2026. It seems there was not much money in courtesy. Better to keep the customer antsy and in a situation where things will take 7 to 10 days rather than 7 to 10 minutes.
This is what they call progress. TD Bank used to have No Fee debit cards that you can use at any ATM.They ended that program. There used to be 4 branches in Hoboken two uptown, one midtown and one downtown. Now there is only one.
I called the TD Bank customer line to check the status of my shipment. The first customer service representative told me my order was being shipped via UPS. That was distressful since UPS doesn’t have building access. I asked to speak with her manager and with a heavy sigh she sent me to her manager.
I was told it would be a waiting time of 1 to 2 minutes. She was off by 8 minutes. The next person, the manager, told me the item was being sent via the United States Postal Service. Then she laughed at the confusion I seemed to be in. So, sometime next week I may get my debit card. But really, TD Bank has gotten truly awful.
There was a camera meeting this morning. I didn’t have much to say, and Yancy mentioned that some things said personally should be kept confidential. A little after the fact but the point was made. Hopefully that was the last to be said of that topic. The rest would be up to me, I reckon.
It looks like another beautiful day outside and I am looking forward to going out.
I had a dream that had Sarah Fortner in it as well as Robert Isacco. I used to call Isacco, Bobby Rissoto when he was deep in the closet and didn’t want his mother to know he was gay. Then he met Greg and they exchanged rings and I guessed he was out of the wardrobe.
Anyway, the Sarah Fortner dream with Bob Isacco took place in Bryant Park and I was hoping to borrow some cash from Sarah for bus fare. She hopped on her bike with her son on the back and pedaled off before I could ask.
I mentioned to Bobby Isacco that I was surprised that Sarah had her son with her. Then I woke up on October 22, 2026.
Google Gemini rewrite as a Jim Thompson
Thursday morning. I tell myself I do my best writing when the sun’s just coming up and the mind hasn’t completely rotted yet. Whether that’s the truth or just another lie I feed myself to get through the day remains to be seen. You tell yourself enough little stories, you start believing them. It’s a habit.
Last night it was the telephone. Hours slipped away on the wire with Bill and Mike, just talking into the receiver while the room grew dark. Now I’m stuck staring at a glowing screen, sitting in on an on-camera meeting with the local fruit pickers and their overseers. Everyone’s nodding, pretending to care, keeping their teeth clean. Not a single soul has brought up the intruder who slithered into the place the other day while I was out. Nobody wants to name the stain on the rug until they absolutely have to.
I’ve got *Night Ripper* playing low in the background. Girl Talk. Haven’t spun Greg Gillis in a long, long time. It brings back Juan. Juan and I stood in the sweaty, crowded dark of Terminal 5 sixteen years ago, watching Gillis tear music to pieces and stitch it back together. Sixteen years. Time doesn’t just pass; it robs you when you aren’t looking.
Then there’s TD Bank. They used to be something you could rely on, but reliability is a dead language around here. Used to be, if you misplaced your debit card, you walked into a branch and ten minutes later you walked out with a fresh piece of plastic in your hand. Clean, quick, no fuss. So when I realized mine was gone this past Sunday, I figured I’d just play it the old way.
I strolled into the branch across from the fruit stand, laid it out for the teller, and waited for the routine. The teller just looked at me, cold as a tombstone, and said they don’t do that anymore.
“Since when?” I asked.
“January.”
Just like that. January 2026, the mercy ran out. It turns out there’s no profit in common courtesy. Why resolve a man’s trouble in ten minutes when you can leave him squirming on the hook for ten days? They call it progress. They used to give you no-fee cards you could slap into any machine anywhere. Gone. They used to have four branches spread across Hoboken—uptown, midtown, downtown. Now there’s just one lonely outpost left standing, like a pawn shop in a dead town.
I called their customer line to track the shipment. The first voice on the line told me the card was coming via UPS. That set off a cold alarm in my gut—UPS doesn’t have access to the building. If it goes to UPS, it goes into the void. I asked for a manager. The girl gave a long, heavy sigh—the kind reserved for annoying bugs—and passed me off.
“One to two minutes,” she lied.
Eight minutes of dead air later, the manager finally picked up. She sang a completely different tune: it was coming by standard U.S. Mail. When I tried to make sense of the runaround, she just laughed at me. A pleasant, empty little giggle at a man trying to get his own money. So maybe it shows up next week. Maybe it doesn’t. Either way, the rot has settled deep inside TD Bank.
Back on the screen, the meeting dragged on. I kept my mouth shut. Yancy chimed in to remind everyone that certain personal matters ought to stay confidential. A little late to lock the barn door after the horse has already bolted, but the message was delivered. Hopefully, that’s the end of it. Whatever’s left of that mess is on me now, I reckon.
Outside the window, the sun is cutting through the haze. Looks like a beautiful day, and I’m eager to step out into it before the shadow catches up.
Before I woke, there was a dream. Sarah Fortner was in it, and so was Robert Isacco. Back when Robert was buried deep in the closet, terrified his mother might catch a whiff of the truth, I used to call him Bobby Risotto. Then he met Greg, they swapped rings, and I suppose he finally stepped out from behind the coats.
In the dream, we were all standing in Bryant Park. I was broke, looking to hit Sarah up for a little bus fare just to get out of town. But before I could even open my trap, she hopped on her bicycle, loaded her kid onto the back, and pedaled hard into the distance.
I turned to Bobby Risotto, stunned, and said I had no idea Sarah even had a son with her.
Then the illusion snapped, and I opened my eyes to the morning.