I'm just waiting on a friend . . .

I was sitting, waiting for Bryan, looking out at Astor Place. The man in the red sweater was leaning on the mailbox, looking like he owned the place, or at least like he had optioned it. Next to me a couple was interviewing a potential nanny for their twins, a Jamaican woman who was doing her best to answer the questions. "They were premature, so they have special needs. I spent a lot of time bed-ridden in the last months of the pregnancy and I'm anxious to get back to my life--can I depend on you to wake them if they sleep too long and miss a feeding?" asked the mother. "We just need to feel that we can trust you," said the father. "Every child is different," said the job applicant, "you just got to pay attention to the child . . . "

The guy sweeping the floor looked over my shoulder and said, "looks just like him. I notice people, but I can't draw'em. That guy's always standing there, taking his foot out of his shoe and looking around. I notice them, but I can't draw them. I see them all, but I don't know how to draw . . . "

I wish I'd noticed he was only wearing one shoe . . .