“He talked about his desire to become a doctor and ate his chopped cheese.”

Chopped cheese

Dear Diary:

I was on my way to the Jackson Hewitt tax office in the Bronx on a Monday evening. I stopped at a Bengali restaurant for dinner. I left with two samosas, as well as dinner and lunch for the next day.

It was 9pm when I arrived at the subway station. I looked around and noticed a boy on the platform. He was playing a video game.

I opened the container with the samosas, but before I could dip one into the sauce, the waiter interrupted me.

Excuse me, miss, he said. Have you a dollar for water? I’m thirsty.

I put my food away.

Let’s go, I said.

We went down.

Are you hungry? I asked him.

Yes, he said.

We walked to a Jamaican restaurant around the corner, known for its jerk chicken, breadfruit and steamed fish.

Please, miss, the boy asked, can we go to a delicatessen?

We found one nearby. He ordered a cheeseburger and an Arizona iced tea. I paid and we ran to the station.

The train arrived immediately. We went upstairs and the waiter brought out the sandwich. I listened as he talked about wanting to become a doctor and ate his chopped cheese.

Stay focused, I started to tell him. Before I could say more, he hugged me and said goodnight.

I got off at the next stop and entered Jackson Hewitt.

You are my last client, the tax preparer said.

Oh, great, I said. I stopped at a Bengali restaurant to kill time and…

Oh really, he said. What did you get?

Once my taxes were paid, I left without my curry. I saved my dinner for lunch the next day.

— Lystria Hurley

Floating

Dear Diary:

It’s a windy day, the kind of day where the wind surges through the Third Avenue canyon and seems to be trying to blow away the unsteady.

A dozen papers flying through the air like leaves. Two women set out to chase the papers into the gutter. One, clutching the slightly crumpled papers in her hand, thanked the other warmly, and they parted.

Across the intersection, a Yankees Starter cap flew off the head of a tall young man. A small, older woman chased after him, grabbed it, and handed it back to him.

-Sarah Jung

‘See you’

Dear Diary:

I was in the locker room at my gym in Hell’s Kitchen changing into my street clothes. A man tying his shoelaces said “see you later” to a friend who was going out.

“You just missed a golden opportunity to say ‘see you soon, I wouldn’t want to be you,'” I told the man.

He looked up at me.

“I’d like to think I’m past that point,” he said.

“Of course not,” I replied.

The man got up to leave.

“Take care of yourself,” I said.

“See you later,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to be in your place. »

— Daniel Bowman Simon

Brooklyn Taco Truck

Dear Diary:

I approached the window of a popular Brooklyn taco truck, just as an older man did the same.

I was in a hurry to get home, but I shrugged and motioned for him to go first. He did the same.

“I don’t know who came first,” he said.

“Me neither,” I replied, “but go ahead. »

“You can go too!” » he said.

I suggested a game of rock, paper, scissors to solve the problem.

Odds or evens? he said.

Same thing, I replied.

After a 3-2-1 countdown, we each took out a finger.

We laughed and I walked up to the window to order.

“Is it even or odd for who pays? » asked the man.

— Emily Spilko

The rotating city

Dear Diary:

I was driving home from a doctor’s appointment in Midtown when I suddenly felt like the city was spinning around me.

I tried to lean against a scaffolding in front of a building on Second Avenue, but it wasn’t enough to keep me upright. Everything was still spinning and I heard myself calling for help.

There was a woman with a dog a few feet away from me who was on the phone. I could hear her crying. She came over to me as I hit the ground.

“Are you okay?” we asked ourselves.

“Yes, but I need a minute to see if I can get up,” I said as a man who worked in a nearby building joined us.

I stood up and, embarrassed and stunned, thanked them both for their help. I explained that I felt fine and would be able to walk home on my own.

The woman with the dog offered to come with me to make sure I was okay, and I asked her again if she was okay because I saw her crying.

“I was talking to someone who called me to tell me that Chita Rivera had just died,” she said.

—Sue Weiner

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Illustrations by Agnes Lee