The rain poured down quite heavily this morning as I was sleeping, it was raining hard enough that I wondered if there was to be flooding when I headed out to work. It stopped for a while when I walked to the bus stop and held off as I made my way to the cigar shack.

Things are improving at the cigar shack, the new regime isn’t fully installed yet but I assured Calvin that I was up for the task of working underneath him. I don’t want to see him fail and will do my utmost to support him.

The day started out easily enough despite working with everyone’s favorite cipher the brain dead Bradley. Calvin was in a meeting with Marcus in the man cave as I set about starting up my duties. I spoke with Bill a few times and was surprised to get his call about an hour later.

He had some sad news. Our friend Hyman gross had passed away. The information was sketchy, gather from Hyman’s nephew. Apparently Hyman died either en route to the Jewish Home in East Harlem where Hyman was going for rehab for his broken ankle, or once he was actually placed in the home. It was a shock, though we knew it was going to happen sooner or later.

Hyman was about 84 years old, his heart was broken since his companion Joan died in 2009 and he was very lonely. Bill and I could only fill that void so much, and the moments when Hyman was alone, waking up almost every night at 3AM. He told me sometimes he felt so alone that he would call the suicide hotline. He never went that far, but I’m sure the idea was there.

I feel bad, and wish I could have done more for him. I also wish he didn’t hit my buttons so much that I would tell him how upset he was making me.

I am glad that I was able to see him in the hospital and bring him the New York Times. I am also glad that he was able to see Bill perform in 2 plays. And I am happy to have been able to take him to what turned out to be his last Thanksgiving dinner at the Waldorf Astoria with Bill.

I tried to get Hyman to write his life story down, he had quite a few tales to tell. Being cruised by Rex Harrison was just one of the stories.

At the end of the night a vendor came to the cigar shack with a bottle of champagne to toast Calvin and his promotion. I was asked to sit in and I gladly did, enjoying a cigar and a flute of the bubbly. Calvin turned to me and asked how I was doing since I told him about Hyman’s passing.

I told him I regretted not being able to say good bye and Calvin understood. I then asked if I could make a toast to the memory of Hyman and Calvin and the vendor and I clinked glasses in Hyman’s memory. It was nice. Calvin was able to get a ride home with the vendor and I closed the store, making my way to the subway.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Hyman, how he was surprised that I would walk from the cigar shack to the bus terminal in minutes (before my knee got jacked up of course) and be able to catch that 9:42 Willow Avenue bus with him.

He always brightened up when he saw me and I was usually tired and grouchy by then. Still I would sit and talk with him. The bus drivers knew Hyman and tonight when I told the bus driver what happened to Hyman, he was visibly saddened.

I am sad to see him go, and I hope he is happy somewhere out there in the universe, hopefully with Joan. Rest in peace, Hyman Gross.

Hyman Gross

Here I am again at the cigar shack. Where yesterday flew by, today was a day of the crawl. Calvin just left which is giving me this opportunity to get some writing started.

Yesterday I took a Xanax before I came in and today should have been the day for that. But I persevered and it all worked out. It was the brain dead Bradley and Calvin and myself today. It has been an edgy day nonetheless.

Calvin had an idea, right before I went to lunch to do something about the non-communication between the brain dead Bradley and myself. That ruined my lunch somewhat, distracting me from enjoying Keith Richards life.

And I am almost done with Keef’s autobiography and it’s been an enjoyable read which I highly recommend.

Lately I’ve been wrestling with myself and coming to terms with the fact that I am an artist. I’ve always been which could explain why I’m usually out of step with most of the human race. I play guitar, I write, I take photographs, I’ve also shot movies, acted and written poetry.

I guess I wear many hats. I am avoiding the jack of all trades line as well as the Renaissance man label.

But like I said, it’s been a long day and now a customer has just walked in, so guess who gets my attention dear reader. Sorry but it isn’t you. I mean you do get my attention in the space of writing (no not really, I just go into writing mode and ignore most everything with the exception of Bill).

The customer is now gone, he was just browsing. At least he wasn’t tire kicking, which is when a customer asks to see something and then they hem and haw and use the line that I myself had given to sales associates all over the place. ‘I’ll be back’.

I reckon 300 words is a nice enough cut off point until I finish this at home.

And now I am home. Had to close the store you see and also finish a damaged cigar that was in the damaged bin. No one wants to buy a cigar that is unraveling at the foot.

I was out of the shop and waiting on the platform. Caught an express train which got me to the bus terminal rather quickly, but not quick enough to catch an earlier bus. I waited for the 126 bus that I usually catch with Hyman Gross.

The bus driver was quite interested in how Hyman was doing, and seemed sincere. Tonight when I got on the bus and asked the bus driver how he was doing, he merely grunted.

I thought I had a connection of sorts with the driver but apparently I didn’t. Tomorrow night, if and when I get the bus I will try to get an earlier bus and will probably continue to do so until Hyman starts riding the bus again.

Monosyllabic drivers are so passé.

Bill is fast asleep in bed, sleeping soundly and quietly thanks to the new sleep apnea mask. All is well.

I thought this guy was a junkie, turns out he was thoroughly engrossed with his iPhone/Blackberry