‘The Evening Lights of New York City Were Beginning to Twinkle’

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On the M72

Dear Diary:

The evening lights of New York City were beginning to twinkle as the driver pulled the M72 to a slow stop. A middle-aged man with an unsteady gait got on pulling a small, rolling suitcase.

Just as the bus started to pull away and gain speed, the man sat bolt upright.

“I forgot a bag,” he exclaimed.

The driver eased to a stop, and the man shuffled off with the rolling bag to retrieve the one he had forgotten. The driver waited until the man was back on board and safely seated before pulling away again.

Before getting off at the last stop, I paused on the steps and thanked the driver for being so patient with the passenger. He smiled.

“I do what I can,” he said.

— Bruce J. M. Knopf

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Locked Out

Dear Diary:

I woke up at 9:30 on a Thursday morning to the sound of persistent knocking at the door of my Manhattan apartment.

I rushed to answer and was greeted by two firefighters from the firehouse across the street. They said they had been told someone on the rear terrace of the floor above mine was locked out and needed help.

They went out to my terrace and yelled up that help was on the way. I told them that the owners of the unit were out of the country, and that I had no idea who might be stuck up there. But I had the keys to that floor, so they used them to open the door.

A short time later, I met the woman whose predicament had prompted the firefighters’ arrival. She was a friend of the owners who was staying in their place temporarily.

It turned out that she had locked herself out on the terrace without her cellphone the previous night and had been forced to spend the whole night there. In the morning, she had fashioned an S.O.S. sign by arranging the leaves of a mint plant on the terrace on a tray.

She used this sign to gain the attention of the people living in a building facing mine. Those people called the Fire Department. Thus ended the tale of the mint-leaf rescue.

— Dolph Klainberg

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Gym Pals

Dear Diary:

Most mornings at 6, I’m on the cross-trainer at my Upper West Side gym. More often than not, the same man is on the cross-trainer next to me. We have never talked to each other or exchanged glances while working out, each of us focused intently on exercising.

On a glorious June afternoon, I was walking outside when I spotted my gym neighbor having a meal outside at a restaurant. I stopped at his table.

“Hi,” I said, smiling. “I think you and I work out at the same time every morning.”

He returned my smile.

“Yes!” he said emphatically. “See you tomorrow morning?”

I gave him a thumbs-up and kept walking.

The next morning, we were back at our respective cross-trainers bright and early. We did not talk to each other or exchange glances, each of us focused intently on exercising.

— Sujal Kapadia

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Rainy Day

Dear Diary:

I was on my way home in the rain after an emotional therapy session. I knew my eyes were red, so I put on my sunglasses for the walk to the subway.

As I walked along the platform watching for my train, I noticed other passengers looking at me.

“Come on,” I thought to myself, “this is New York City. Surely you’ve seen people wearing shaded glasses in the subway before.”

Then I realized my umbrella was still open.

— Sylvia Feinman

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Sausage and Peppers

Dear Diary:

On a summer Sunday when I was living on 56th Street behind Carnegie Hall, I ran the loop in Central Park and then returned home on Sixth Avenue.

A typical summer street fair was being set up on the avenue, and an Italian sausage truck was positioned at 58th Street.

“Great,” I thought. I love Italian sausage sandwiches.

I returned to the truck at about 1 p.m., bought one, took it back to my apartment and thoroughly enjoyed it.

At about 4 p.m., I decided to treat myself to another. When I got to the truck, there was a man ahead of me who had just ordered and was waiting for his sandwich.

I ordered one, and while I waited, the counterman brought the man in front of me his and he began eating.

When my sandwich arrived, it was huge, with easily twice the amount of sausage, peppers and onions as before.

As I started eating, I noticed the other man looking at my sandwich, then at his sandwich, then at mine again. Finally, he looked at the counterman.

“What gives?” he said. “Why’s mine so small?”

“Oh,” the counterman answered without hesitating, “he’s a regular.”

— William L. Clayton

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Illustrations by Agnes Lee