What a fucking Wednesday. It started off OK, then I got out of bed. I did my routine, shower, and whatnot, then when it was time to get my coffee, the lights were on as if coffee was made, but there was some colored water. Not exactly coffee.

Now I enjoy coffee, but Bill does not. But Bill likes to make my coffee, and he does not like it when I make it myself. Bill sometimes leaves the lid of the Cuisinart up, though this does not prevent the coffeemaker from making coffee, but it is not coffee. The water goes through without touching the coffee grounds in the filter.

It was a major disappointment, and I did not have the time to make the coffee myself. I threw caution to the wind and went into the world without any caffeine in my system. I went to work after helping Mike get to his job via a Lyft. He called me desperate to get to work on time, and I felt obliged to help him out. It wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last, I’m sure. I can do it, and I am happy to help.

I got my coffee from the subjugated women at Dunkin Donuts on 14th Street; they have that deer in the headlights look, which is not a good look to have when dealing with the public before 8:00 AM. And I was early to work once again, in before most everyone. I changed my undershirt since it was quite drenched in sweat and hung it in the back of the closet near my desk.

I am hesitant to post that I like this job, but I really do like this job, and I like my co-workers. Beresford Marcus has turned out to be an engaging young man of 29. And Jimmy Chile is even more fun. A font of wisdom and quite a life story that unravels day by day, and he’s very funny. The 3 of us generally sit near each other and chat throughout the day, usually ending in laughs all around.

In the midst of all that, Mike called with bad news. Since I was involved in this story, I will tell it. Mike quit his job in a fit of pique. He had nothing lined up, but the criticism he was faced with was too much for him to bear, and he walked off his job. It was a foolish thing to do, but here he is, out of work and now needing to get a job pronto.

As bad as his job was, it was bearable with a schedule he was used to. But he was near the bottom of the ladder. No room for advancement and his co-workers looked at him with disdain and treated him like crap. It was his breaking point, and he went right through it.

He called me immediately. I was taken aback but said nothing. I forwarded him some job postings, which caused some consternation. He claimed his email was rejected, but his dyslexia had him mess up his email address, which added to his confusion. It wasn’t until I got home that I was able to let him know what he had done wrong.

He’s going to be here most of the weekend, I reckon, working on his resume and sending out applications online. I got him to work via Lyft only to quit a couple of hours later, without any prospects. What a fucking Wednesday. His birthday approaches, and whatever plans that were made for a celebration of Mike have fallen by the wayside.

This is the first post I have made with typing rather than dictating. It was easier than I remembered…

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?