It’s raining in New York today… enough rain between today and yesterday to make people think we might be in for thirty-eight more days of it. I am nestled on a bear throw in the lobby of the Ace Hotel. My pant legs are soaked around the ankles and I’m chilled to the bone.
So far, three phonecalls, one in person meeting, and not as many e-mails as I would have liked to get back to. I’m playing with some apps on my Touch. The girl sitting next to me is having coffee with her parents. She has a rock on her finger the size of my head. Dad has a Titleist cap on—same hat he fishes in. Mom’s talking to the waiter about the fries. “It’s a Cuban Mayo,” he explains. “Whatever it is, it’s really good.”
I’m munching on a sage chicken sandwich—every bite deliciously tasty, if not a little mushy with stuffing. Overpriced but maybe the best sandwich I’ve ever tasted. I’m eating the chips, too, which I don’t usually do. My netbook is plugged in behind the couch in the outlet below the stuffed raccoon.
Stragglers are wandering aimlessly about, vulturing for a seat…pacing back and forth along the small tiled runway originating at the lobby’s front door. A waitress passes. She’s taken her uniform t-shirt, stretched out the neck, sewed up a sleeve, and made it into an off the shoulder top—just one shoulder though. I like the Breslin t-shirts, but I’m afraid that I sit here so often, I might accidently where one in and everyone would think I was working here. I have a bad habit of wearing the same clothing over and over again, because of my last in, first out laundry policy.
The study table is packed. There’s a thick bearded man with a black hat, pink collared shirt and red tie. I’m trying to decide if he’s a hipster, the world’s coolest dressing Hasidic Jew, or both. He’s sitting next to a beautiful French reporter who camps out here all the time—no headphones on means no impending deadline.
The photobooth is getting more work today than usual. I’ve seen four or five flashes in the last couple of hours.
My high school friend is sitting at the study table. His beard is giving the other guy a run for his money. I guess this is kind of beard weather—cold, rainy. It’s nice in here, though…warm, full of ideas, and furry. I hope I see Molly the waitress with the three-legged dog. What odd looking paw prints he probably makes tracking rainwater across an apartment floor.