Drop #72: The Lot

You turn left on 19th, following the Puerto Rican chick in low-cut jeans till she peels off on 8th Ave. There’s a mixed group of twenty-something punks on the corner: three guys and two girls in faded skinny jeans, with mohawks and tattoos, but soft faces. You continue east collecting glances: one from a middle-aged Jewish lady with frazzled hair and red cheeks; another from a bony black dude in a white wife beater with an impressive afro.

You walk downtown on 6th Ave, stretching your legs through Chelsea where two plump Indian daddy’s girls waddle by in colorful swathes, and wiry Ethiopians move heavy cactuses, past the delis and coffee shops. You stop for a minute on 13th to watch a bus unload three German tourists in high heels and short skirts, giggling at something with wide mouths; an accountant type in his late forties, a gray striped suit and glasses; a tall MTR employee with dirty hands, and a Latina with short legs and greased back hair who smiles at you with the whitest teeth.

There are plenty of interesting characters between 14th and 4th, including a thirty-something broad in spandex and purple sneakers with a bare midriff and long red braids, and a guy, shirt draped over shoulder, with one of the three best six packs you have ever seen – actually, it’s more of an eight pack, with abs jamming into each other like they’re at war. You stop on 8th to watch the eclectic crowd at Gray’s Papaya dig into their dogs. You take a second to observe every face in the joint, lingering on the pale white girl with fake eyebrows and the mustached hipster.

You take a break at Washington Square Park, making a slow round, looking at the peeps and freaks and street performers. The juggler is great, doing his bit on a unicycle while cracking jokes – he seems Hungarian or Bulgarian, but you might be wrong. A girl is playing guitar on the grass at the south end. She has the sweetest round face and loveliest vibe. A scruffy guy straight out of Seattle is playing Alice in Chains covers a hundred yards over, and doing a great job too. A man with a huge belly and mean face stands watching, unimpressed. There are a couple of guys that look like drug dealers walking around all businesslike, one in an oversized football jersey and baggy jeans, the other in a white T and baseball cap. Who knows, though? Maybe they’re undercovers instead. A couple circles around on rollerblades holding iced coffees, both with just impossible bodies; a bearded hippie type does tai chi on a rug, and two intellectual types talk Woody Allen nearby. A tall skinny blonde sits chatting to a tall skinny brunette. Maybe they are models, one from Finland, one from Latvia, or maybe they’re just students taking in the sun.

You sit on the small wall near the pretzel cart, kick off your sandals and recall all the people you saw on route, and those you have just encountered in the park, confirming that you’d fuck every single one of them – that if you could, you’d give the lot of them the business; well, except maybe that guy with the belly watching the musician. Then you consider getting a knish.

By E.M. Vireo


About EM Vireo
flooding the world with fiction

11 Responses to Drop #72: The Lot

  1. redplace says:

    Interesting style. I like the way you captured the people captured in movement and flow,

  2. EM Vireo says:

    Thanks, redplace. NY is all movement and flow so I’m glad that came off.

  3. I was actually waiting for something horrible to happen at the end of this. Kind of glad it didn’t

  4. thomaswrites says:

    Great ending! Wasn’t expecting that

  5. life, very well unfolded. thanks for putting me in the driver’s seat 😉

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