People Watching.

As I mentioned earlier, I threw caution to the wind and hung out on Bedford Avenue to "people watch." I hung in there for three hours, two large coffees and three benches, and what I came away with is that I am terrible at people watching.  From what I can gather, people watching means watching total strangers and, based on what they look like and any snippets of conversation you can grab, craft some sort of story about who they are.  Their dreams, who they're with, what they do, where they're from,  yada yada yada.  I do none of this.  I merely sit while being wowed by the bordering-on-the-insane number of beautiful women walking by.  Well, in one way I do try to guess "who someone is" - with hipster dudes, I try to gauge how much of a total fuckwad he is, from 1 to 10. 

Actually, I also came away having haggled the price of a book down from $7 to $5 ($5 is as high as I go with used books on the street, thank you very much.  Policy is policy.) After he told me $7 I did my usual, slinking away quietly without argument; after only a few steps I was reminded of a passage from Paddy's Lament in which a filthy, barefoot little girl with her ribs sticking out wordlessly runs alongside a horse-drawn carriage; when the carriage stopped she stopped, when it picked up again so did she.  Again, all without saying a word.  Finally after a few miles the riders in the carriage said fuck it, give the kid some fucking food already, which she gratefully took and turned to sprint back home with the food for her family.  Paddy's Lament was also the book I read the day I blew off seeing The Pogues for what turned out to be Kirsty MacColl's last-ever public appearance before being killed, but that's neither here not there.  I walked back to the table and planted myself right in front of the book, not moving or speaking.  The guy of course noticed, but ignored me.  Customers came and went, and still I stood like a rock.  Minutes passed.  I was willing discomfort onto the guy, Jedi mind-tricking the weight of uneasiness on him.  I would not budge.  Finally there were no other customers around and I could feel the beautiful sigh of surrender from within him as his spirit sagged in defeat, and seconds later I walked away with the book, the $2 I'd saved, and the majestic sounds from the horns of victory swelling about me as I marched in triumph down Bedford Avenue.  VICTORY!