So, okay, New York...
Every so often in New York, you are abruptly reminded you live in THE city. The city that songs, poetry, legend and sitcoms are made of. Most days, it actually feels quite normal, quite real. And before you know it, you've become one of those head-down kinds of people, no loose jaws marvelling at the skyscrapers, no fold-out maps and digital cameras. You're busy and important, there's no time for the dally or the dilly.
And then there are those nights when odd things happen. The universe might even give you a hint that something is in the air. Let's say it begins with you being invited to the Upper East Side, to hang out at the brand new pad of an actual working actor. An actor who's just secured a soap opera contract, and can now afford to live ''just off Madison''. So, he's cool, but not too cool to contemplate being part of one of your projects, and he invites you over for the initial script reading, providing food, wine and all sorts of metrosexual appetizers as part of the package.
Flash forward three glasses of wine. It's just hit the witching hour, and you are walking from Union Square back to your very downtown, very loveable shoebox. The journey takes you through Washington Square Park (think famous white arch), notorious for satisfying the extra curricular cravings of NYU students. Tonight, they are shooting a movie. There are huge floodlights, and vans and white reflectors, but this is part of the every day now, so you keep your head down and walk on through it.
A good looking and affable black man is suddenly beside you. He's on for a chat. He tells you Robin Williams is such a lovely man. So this is a Robin Williams film. My companion tells me Robin is remarkable. All that talent, but still so grounded. We talk easily, then about two thirds of the way along the path, we see a young couple bailed up against the fence. The young man is being accosted by another man, it's the traditional fist-collar grip, and something about the night is so surreal anyway, it's hard to place immediately what's wrong with the picture.
It is enough to register as odd however, and something in me feels the need to react. I don't know whether it's the wine, or my new companion, but in an unwavering voice I ask,
''Are you guys okay?''
The girlfriend looks at me wide-eyed (more deer in headlights, than deer in Disney), 'No... he's bothering us'
It's hard to explain the choreography here, but completely boulstered by a false sense of my own power, I step around beside the girl and look the assailant in the eye. My companion takes his cue and steps around the other side of him.
I say, ''Man... leave them alone.''
(When I started using words like '
Man' I'm not entirely sure. I guess around chardy number two. Anyway...)
He looks at me, he looks at my friend. And he lets go.
We stand there and watch to make sure he doesn't move as the young couple regroup and head off in the other direction.
Like I, personally, own Manhattan, I tell them to have a good night.
Then we head off again.
It's only now that I find out my new friend's name is Gregory. He tells me he is just divorced, and is homeless. He asks me if I can help. I think about what just happened. I wonder if he might be Jesus disguised as a homeless, black man. A modern retelling of the best seller.
By the time I actually walk away from him, we have hugged three times and convinced ourselves there is indeed goodness in the world.
At home, I stop in at the pub at the bottom of my building. I hope the owner, Denver (who knows me only as ''love'' and who refuses to let me pay for my drinks) will be there, so I can down a Cosmo and tell him my extravagant story. Alas, the pub is busy, and Denver is nowhere to be seen.
And so I write it here. Because I'm sure tomorrow I will be convinced it was all a dream. Man.
