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Perfect Pink Bike

Dear Diary:

It was some years ago, and I had gotten a fantastic deal on a floor-model cruiser bike at the Kmart on Astor Place.

The bike was a deep pink and had a pretty basket. It was a perfect petite size for my 5-foot-1 frame.

I managed to get it down the stairs to the 6 train platform, and then into a crowded train car.

The problem came after I had gotten off and was confronted with having to lug it up what felt like an insurmountable staircase to the street and, eventually, my apartment.

As I paused as the foot of the stairs, looked up and considered the challenge ahead of me, a man with a kind smile and what appeared to be the strength of a professional wrestler offered to carry the bike for me.

“You’re not going to run off with it, right?” I asked.

He looked at me and shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Lady,” he said, lifting the bike and starting up the stairs, “I wouldn’t be caught dead riding this thing.”

— Anne Roderique-Jones

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On the No. 4

Dear Diary:

It was a Sunday morning, and I was riding uptown on the No. 4 train.

A well-dressed, older woman got on at the Brooklyn Bridge and took a seat across from me.

We smiled at each other, and I looked back down at my phone and continued reading.

Looking up after a moment, I was shocked to see the woman kneeling in front of me on the floor of the moving train.

I said something in protest. The woman looked up.

“I’m tying your shoe,” she said. “I don’t want you to fall.”

— John Payne

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‘Pentimento’

Dear Diary:

It was a cold, sunny afternoon, and I was on the Upper West Side with some time to spare, so I went to Barnes & Noble. I searched the mystery section for “The Thin Man” by Dashiell Hammett.

After finding a copy, I settled into an empty chair. Soon, a woman wearing chic red glasses sat down beside me. She had two Dorothy Parker books.

“Have you read Dorothy Parker before?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“No,” she said, “but I need something funny for my book club.”

She asked what I was reading.

“If you like Dashiell Hammett, you must read ‘Pentimento’ by Lillian Hellman,” she said.

“Oh, I love the movie ‘Julia’ with Jane Fonda and Vanessa Redgrave,” I replied.

We chatted for a little while longer, and then I had to leave. I wished her luck with her book club, decided against buying “The Thin Man” and walked outside into the winter chill.

As I strolled past Westsider Books a couple of blocks away, I was astonished to see a $1 hardback copy of “Pentimento.”

I didn’t have any cash, but I promised the bookseller I would bring in a dollar soon.

She smiled.

“Take it,” she said.

— J.D. Waddill

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How to Succeed

Dear Diary:

I had just moved into my new apartment over Joe Allen’s on West 46th Street in 1981 and had gone to the supermarket at Manhattan Plaza to stock up on food and other supplies.

I bought enough to fill two paper sacks to overflowing, and on the way back to my place, one of the bags began to rip.

It was just after 7:30 p.m. and people were leaving restaurants and heading to the theater. I was four doors away from my apartment when I set the bags down.

The one that was beginning to rip tore completely, and everything in it spilled all over the sidewalk.

A man who was walking by stopped and asked kindly if he could help.

I told him I could run to my apartment and grab a large garbage bag to gather up the spilled groceries. He agreed to stand guard over my food until I got back.

When I returned, I shoved the groceries into the bag while thanking the man profusely.

As I finished, I looked up and suddenly realized who he was.

“Oh, my God,” I stammered, “you’re Robert Morse!”

He smiled as I thanked him again and again and then went on his way.

— Peter Elliott

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Locked In

Dear Diary:

A locksmith’s van was double-parked on West 102nd Street. It was blocking a large truck from getting by. Within minutes, cars were lined up behind the truck, horns honking in vain to summon the van’s driver.

As I walked by, I noticed a sheet of paper on the van’s dashboard that identified the building where the locksmith was working and included a cellphone number.

I called the number and told the locksmith his van was blocking traffic. He said he would be right out.

I then walked over to the truck.

“All you had to do,” I told the driver, “was get out of your truck and check the front of the van to find out where the locksmith was.”

The driver shrugged and smiled.

“I get paid by the hour,” he said.

— Joel Mandelbaum

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Illustrations by Agnes Lee