A Stranger in a Strange Land Part 2

We then eventually headed through a maze of tunnels and then after purchasing a token made our way to a subway platform.

While we were waiting for a train to take us downtown I observed the strangest phenomenon. 

I guess it was rush hour as people would pile into an open train and after it was full and the doors had closed individuals would suddenly run and  launch themselves into the cars despite there being lack of room. It was like watching a mosh pit at a metal concert. No one seemed upset by this unruly behavior as folks continued to pack the train like sardines before the subway doors shuddered to a close.

Eventually the train would take off with its occupants hanging on for dear life.

I gotta tell you it was one helluva way to travel.

***

Several hours later after stashing my bag at Matt’s apartment on Avenue A:

We’re walking down 9th Street in the Village after getting off the F train and a  light rain started to fall. Matt was telling me about this restaurant called the Veselka which had Ukrainian food which I had never had. 

As we were walking down to the restaurant, I noticed three really big Jock like guys were headed directly our way on the crowded sidewalk. 

Now Matt and I had been sharing an umbrella to keep dry. So I guess they were out gay bashing as one of these dudes basically clips me as hard as he can on my shoulder. Almost spinning me around. I wasn’t badly hurt, just surprised.

The guy started yelling “Fuckyou! Ya fuckin’ faggots,” all kinds of really nasty shit.  My brother wanted to look at them but  something inside me told me to not engage with these hombres. I grabbed him by the arm and said “just keep going,” cuz I knew these guys would probably kick our ass and probably badly too. As we walked away I could hear them still yelling at us so I whispered to Matt – “Listen, if you hear these guys chasing after us, Matt…”

“Do what?” he said.

“Run!”

***

We made it unmolested to this Ukrainian diner and I have to say that the food was good although for the life of me I couldn’t tell you what we ate because I was still shaking from getting hit.

I kept thinking we could have been badly hurt and by a bunch of yahoos who were looking to pound somebody for shits and grins.

The capper to the evening was I finally calmed down and I ordered a slice of apple pie for dessert.

Our waitress, a heavy set woman wearing an apron, promptly returned with a large bran muffin.

Me: “Excuse mam, I ordered apple pie.”

Waitress: “This is apple pie.”

Me: “No, it’s a bran muffin.”

Waitress: “We’re out of apple pie. It’s the same thing.”

I ended up just having coffee (sans muffin aka the “apple pie” and looked out on second avenue through the restaurant window.  It was actually the first quiet moment for me to collect my thoughts and take in my surroundings.

It felt like I was on a movie set because the City felt so different from what I was used to back in California. Even Washington DC where I was stationed seemed pristine to this hobbesian environment. 

There were so many people and buildings smashed together in every block. There was garbage overflowing into the streets. There was the constant sound of cars and yellow cabs blaring their horns, people arguing loudly, and somewhere out in this jungle I heard a woman’s screaming obscenities at nobody.

Compared to the West Coast, this place was filthy. If San Francisco and New York were dogs – San Fran would be a friendly well groomed Poodle wearing a rhinestone collar – while New York City was a dirty pitbull licking his balls and not giving two fucks whether you were offended by his so metal attitude or not.

Yup, Welcome to New York I thought.

***

End of Part 2