Sunday afternoon I went to brunch with Joshua Suzanne. It was hot out.
I waited at St. Mark's and A, and a man stood behind me on the street corner, facing the other way. I had seen him walking with a framed poster, and he seemed like the kind of person who talks to himself until someone notices him. The kind of person you try not to notice in New York so they won't start a crazy one-sided conversation with you.
I stood on the corner, and this man stood behind me, messing with the framed picture. There was a loud crash as the frame fell to the sidewalk and the man shouted, "maaANNN!!!" I hoped he didn't want to blame it on me. He asked the people around him, "What're you gonna do? What're you gonna do?"
He picked up the broken glass and left the poster behind. It was that photo of the sailor returning from WWII, grabbing a woman and kissing her in the street. I think it's strange, the people who always have something to sell. Like this was a poster he found somewhere and he was on his way to sell it. Since it broke on the way, he left it behind. But I always wonder about that -- the people who find things on the street and rush somewhere else to sell it. Where do they find the things they sell? Better yet, how do they connect with their buyers? Is it worth all the running around?
Hmmm . . . . maybe the running around is exciting.
Joshua bought me a club sandwich at Odessa, and we took it to the park. We found a nice spot to spread out the tablecloth and sat down to eat.
"I'm thinking of shaving my legs," she said. We compared toes; she says mine are nice and hers look crazy. "I mean, which set of toes would you rather suck on?" she asked.
Maggie lives close to Tompkins Square, so I invited her over. She brought her daughter Lucy. I haven't always felt comfortable with little kids, and Lucy's the first one with whom I've made an effort, and she's so sweet and fun. I'm glad to know her.
As Joshua was ready to leave, a butterfly landed on the tablecloth. Its black and orange wings were damaged. Maggie said, "Look at the pretty butterfly!" like she didn't want Lucy to miss her chance to see it before it flew away.
It flew away, but it came back. It flew away and came back again. Over and over, it kept landing on the tablecloth, on Joshua's boot, on Maggie's shoulder. We became comfortable leaning in closely, comfortable that we wouldn't scare it away. For some reason it liked us, or liked Lucy specifically, I told her. Lucy said we had a new butterfly friend. We asked what its name was. Was it a boy or a girl?
It was a girl, and Joshua named it "Mariposa", Spanish for "butterfly".
I took some pictures as it rested on Maggie's shoulder.
