Scene: Atlantic Avenue and Court Street, 11 p.m.

(Three black youths enter, stage right)

Black Youth 1: Let’s get that n____r!

Black Youth 2: Yeah, get him!

Black Youth 3: Get that n_____r!

(They cross left, chasing after another black youth. They start to beat him)

Our Hero: (standing stage right) What the f*ck… (reaches for phone to call the police.)

(A Hispanic man with an American accents sidles up to OH from stage right)

Hispanic Man: These n____rs are stupid!

(OH ignores him, turns to leave)

HM: I love this shit. (pause) Just say n_____r one time. Just say it.

OH: No. (He starts to walk away. HM follows.)

HM: Come on! I’m not black; I won’t be offended.

(Black youths exit, stage left)

OH: No. That’s just not something I say lightly.

HM: Oh, OK. Have a good night! (He exits stage right ahead of OH).

Fin

-

“Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.”

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Scene: The Frozen Food Aisle. Our Hero is stocking frozen cereal

Enter a Middle-Aged Man in Army Coat

MAMiAC
Do you have any just regular plain waffles?

OUR HERO
Nope. Just the gluten-free ones.

MAMiAC
Jesus! What the hell did people do twenty years ago? Gluten-free. Cage-free eggs. (Gestures to the dairy section) They’re showing mercy to chickens. When I was in Vietnam, we killed people; we didn’t show any mercy.

OH
Yes, but they were technically free-range.

MAMiAC
(Laughs) Yeah. (Exits)

OH
(To himself) I need a new job.

We’re holding a launch party on Thursday, December 16th at WORD in Greenpoint at 7 p.m. Free beer, free readings, and free copies of the magazine. Come on by and check it out if your in the borough.

“Done already?” he says through yellow teeth.

I had explained my early work situation enough times that night to change my mind. What’s one more beer? Pete seems entertaining enough. I mean, with silver mutton chops and a red vest who wouldn’t be? I order a cheap macro.

In between ten other customers and conversations Pete manages to tell me a story. “So you know, some guy come in here four months ago and I says, ‘Hey! I know you!’ And he says ‘Yeah, I’m part of that band…’ Aw, what’s it called? You know it…”

Still waiting for clues, I say, “I don’t think I do.”

“Yeah, you do!” Pete makes two fists with his hands and starts pumping them back and forth from his body. He says with no tune, “I like to move it. I like to move it.”

I pull the name from the deep recesses. “Reel 2 Real?” That was one of the first songs I downloaded off of an FTP site back in 1996, thus beginning a long career of never paying for music.

“Yeah! That’s it! He come in here four months ago. Real nice guy. Buys everyone drinks.”

“One more beer,” I think, “and this will start making more sense.”

A couple beers later, a tall black man in his mid-forties appears beside me and orders four pitchers of Bud. He’s flanked by two young, attractive women who are showing more skin than not.

From the other end of the bar Pete lights up and points frantically at the man standing next to me. He yells “That’s him! That’s that’s the guy! I like to move it!”

I look up and behold a bald, aging man in a tan suit. Play it cool. “Reel 2 Real?” I ask, as if I knew all along.

“Yeeeah…” His voice was an octave lower than mine and twice as slow. “Hey, Pete. Buy this guy a beer.” He points to me. “And this guy,” he points to someone else.

“Uh, thanks man,” I say as he collects his pitchers and leaves. I call out after him, “Oh, and I dig your work!” I refrain from mentioning his role in my early piracy.

Pete comes up with the beer. “A nice guy. A nice guy,” he says.

$550 very specious Brooklyn apt. to share

At least they’re honest, just like my previous spammer.

(Scene: Friday, 2 a.m. underground at a Brooklyn subway station. The hallway is sparsely populated by a few lone late-night revelers.)

(Enter a large, lumbering, black woman from stage right)

LLBW: (addresses Stranger 1 loudly in Carribean accent): Have you SEEN the light of Jesus Christ?!

Stranger 1: Uh, no. (Exits stage right)

LLBW: (to Stranger 2): Have YOU seen the LIGHT of Jesus Christ?!

Stranger 2: Sure… (Quickly exits stage right)

(Your Hero enters from stage left)

LLBW: (To Your Hero) HAVE you SEEN the LIGHT OF CHRIST?!

YH: Nope.

LLBW: (Enraged, screaming) I WIPE MY FILTHY HANDS ON YOU! (Wipes imaginary muck on Your Hero’s sleeve)

YH: ( Looks around to see if anyone else witnessed this. To himself) What the f…?

LLBW: (Exits stage left; To unseen stranger) Have you SEEN the light of Christ?!

Fin

——

Seriously, you can’t make up this kind of action. New York is the strangest place on earth.