The air of election

At noon, having nothing to do, I walk up Amsterdam
to 96th. There is a thrift store and I go inside
but everything is expensive. Or most things. The
clothes and electronics.

Books are still cheap, and I buy a Dashiell
Hammet novel. It's been a very long time since
I've gone a day without buying something.

On the way out a sanitation worker paws my
shoulder. "Hey beautiful," he says, with a look
in his eye that is not friendly or admiring but
just horny.

I shrug him off but he trails me down the
block, yelling obscenities. I'm not really
embarrassed, but certainly conscious of being the
object of communal pity. Not empathy, though.
People seem to resent a girl in this situation.


Index