Snacking all morning, I went for a walk at lunchtime. While at a corner, waiting for the light to change, a guy sidles up to me, telling me to buy him something to eat. I gave him a look that said You must be joking. He saw the look and then said he was joking, following that up with a request for French fries.

I told him he was dressed better than me and he said he was going to an interview. I crossed the street and wished him well. I continued walking, and at half a city block away, I turned and saw he was following me. Perhaps not exactly, but walking in the same direction. It was unnerving enough that I crossed the street and walked, crossing back when I did not see him anymore.

It’s been that kind of day. Mike says he gets very nervous about his Dads, Me & Bill getting home safely. Mike would know the code of the streets better than we do, I reckon, and though I feel we would be OK, one can’t really tell.

Just last week, an elderly gent was walking down the subway stairs at 18th & 7th Avenue when he was kicked down the stairs by a deranged individual who had just been released from Bellevue earlier that day. The gentleman walking down the stairs was killed when pushed. Things tend to get worse during the hot summer months, and we are not in summer yet.

Dearest Rita refuses to take the subway anymore, and she’s been living in Manhattan for 50 years. She’s had enough. Not enough to move, where would she move to? She would rather not, so I think she will stay on her city block since everything she might need is within walking distance.

In totally unrelated news, I saw two trans people, within a minute of each other. Not sure if they were trans, they just might be young men who like to wear dresses and makeup. I just kept walking and kept to myself. It sure is a different world than it was when I was growing up.

And why shouldn’t it be different? How people dress and identify is not my concern, and I wish them well. This should have been done years ago, but things were too uptight. I have been indoctrinated and struggle with shaking that nonsense off as often as possible.

I’m sure I’d written about it earlier, perhaps not, but in Hoboken about 10 years ago, I saw an effeminate young man crossing the street opposite me. I saw him, and I got upset. Then I caught myself getting upset and realized my indoctrination needed to go.

I was ashamed by my initial reaction but the second reaction was to mind my own business, knowing this young man has a hard enough time, probably, and would not need me to add to that hard time.

I discussed it with a co-worker a week or so later and as I was telling my story, I started to cry. I remembered being slapped if my wrist was just a little bit limp.

Looking up a name in the fruit stand directory, I notice a few young men named Dalton. WTF?