Its the middle of the day and the work has finally slowed to a point where I can sit and regain my marbles. In this line of work, it's so easy to get lost inside of the very restrictive lives and lines of motion that we all lead. So many times I forget to look and take in the real reason I have forced myself onto these streets for. It is the experience that we yearn for but often pass. So now on this downtime I sit and watch the world.
An old man in a new fuzzy peacoat and a ratty, ancient beanie wears an A-sign outside of a shop simply named “Sample Sale”. Posters of discounts slathered with designer names litter the stores front window. Wonder how long that sample sale has lasted?
The haggard looking man in the beautiful coat is pacing back and forth on a ten foot section of sidewalk holding out flyers peddling his employer’s goods. I’m on the library steps watching the world and it’s beautiful, maddening ironies and it’s oh so delectable pace.
In front of me I watch a man with what seems as some sort of mental disability begins strumming a guitar just a few feet away, brushing his fingers against the strings producing only one off-key note over and over again while singing completely in monotone as if he’s been deaf since birth. His New York Mets trucker cap is as faded as his jeans which mirror the rest of the spectacle that he gifts to me and this island on such a beautiful Manhattan Monday as this.
He pauses for a second to take off his Mets windbreaker, as he comes closer we make eye contact and share a friendly hello. I can’t help but beam a full faced smile at this man which he returns with a semi toothless one. He turns away and my smile, contrary to the limits of my facial features, gets even bigger. There has to be some way to share this with the world without having to resort to having some sort of super-phone to film it with.
The glasses wrapping his face are kept together at the bridge of his nose with some scotch tape and they are connected around the back of his head by a shoestring. It feels like the whole ensemble together with the hobo A-sign guy in the peacoat is a part in some play or comedy movie. I smile and look around to see if anyone else is catching any of this but everyone around me is so involved with their own little microcosm of a world that they are blind to the one we are sharing in real time. All the while, the one note continues.
A tourist couple starts taking pictures against the limestone to my right, the man’s droning strums providing the vacation soundtrack. They try to look like nothing odd is going on and pretend that he and his monotone racket simply doesn’t exist. But I’m staring dead at this man and I know he exists in this world probably much more so than either of them. He is no tourist to this reality, he spends everyday inside of it. I can feel how much this means to him from my perch 15 feet away. His face crunched together in dedication and struggle, his body begins rocking to and fro to a rhythm completely his own. He’s probably wanted to share something like this with the world his whole life. You can see it in his closed eyes that this is all of him he is giving to the world right now. Yet most around me won’t even cast a glance his way.
The volume picks up, “buh ah biwambun anna huuu honkomeee… CHEESEBUHGER IN PAWADISE!” The off key strumming reaches a furious paces, his right hand is only a blur against the backdrop of the weathered guitar he has dangling from his neck with a few shoelaces tied together. Then, I notice the headphones plugged into his ears. This was the only way he could do this, he had to have his heroes with him singing along.
The park sitters finally begin to take notice, there’s not a face turned towards him missing some semblance of a smile. While this spectacle is taken in by those with enough time to partake, the avenue 20 feet away continues without so much as a blink of interruption. It’s aimed straight at the bottom of this island of ours, ready to unload back into the world all those who travel it, back into some other reality not as intense and honest as the one unfolding before my eyes.
A run comes over my phone, I’m forced to rip myself away and back into that same avenue that I condemn for it’s speed. I know I can be faster than it but am much more appreciative of the fact that I can stop, exit and sit surrounded by all the 7 billion wonders of the world.
I nod at our pleasant minstrel and all of the sudden he stops playing and waves a hearty goodbye. I laugh and jump on my bike.
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