‘I Pushed Him Hard Into a Pile of Black Bags Covering the Sidewalk’

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The Push

Dear Diary:

I was walking home on a quiet SoHo street, smoking a cigarette very early in the morning after a long night of working, when I was stopped by a couple of guys with a camera. They were N.Y.U. students shooting a short film.

Can you help us? one asked. I will go up to you and ask for a cigarette. You will say no and push me into a garbage pile.

Just like that? I said. You sure?

Yes, he said. Push me hard.

As it happened, I was in a bad mood, and when the scene started, I pushed him hard into a pile of black bags covering the sidewalk and gutter. It felt surprisingly good.

Why did you do that? he said, looking upset.

I shrugged.

At that point, he seemed to pause to collect his thoughts. He went over to the bags and piled them up for a softer landing.

Let’s do it again, he said. But please, softer on the push.

A little mellowed by the interaction, I followed the instructions. Afterward, they thanked me.

I wonder if they got an A.

— Johan Alderin

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Fillmore East

Dear Diary:

It was March 1970, and I was a student at Syracuse University. I was having dinner in the dining hall when a friend came in with The Village Voice and announced that Neil Young was playing at the Fillmore East that night.

“I’ve got my dad’s car for the weekend,” another friend said. “Let’s go.”

Four of us got into the car for the long drive to the East Village, never once doubting that we would somehow get into the show.

Amazingly, we found a parking space around the corner from the Fillmore on Sixth Street

We ran to the ticket window only to see a “Sold Out” sign. My friend with the car asked the man in the booth if the show was really sold out.

He said it was.

One of us grumbled about having driven all the way from Syracuse.

The man in the booth told us he had gone to Syracuse and said he would be right back. When he returned, he had four unclaimed press tickets. Third row!

The Steve Miller Band and Miles Davis opened, followed by Neil Young. What a memorable show.

— Richard Feury

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At Jimmy’s Corner

Dear Diary:

Beverages blended with opinions
Transformed a period of calm
Into a group of tables
Where opinions wouldn’t expire
I was told I advertised weakness
By not conforming to a consensus
Which stated Frazier’s left hook
Shattered mortal men in such a fashion
That it was capable of demolishing
Butterflies, champions and gods
Beverages blended with opinions
As I detached from a moment
That realized Ali’s supremacy
Bypassed defense
None the less, I searched for a quip
That would resolve my hero’s honor
But before I had a chance to weigh in
The room tilted toward chaos
Enough so that the barkeep reminded us
When dogs bark
It’s usually an indication
That it’s time
For the caravan to move on

— Danny Klecko

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Special Delivery

Dear Diary:

For the love of pizza and my wife, I traveled to Brooklyn Heights to pick up two gluten-free pies. I then wrapped the boxes together with blue painter’s tape to hold them steady for horizontal travel.

I was surprised by how crowded the Manhattan-bound 2 train was when I stepped on it that early Sunday evening, but I managed to find a spot in the corner where I could protect my precious cargo.

When we got to 14th Street, the car got even more crowded as three young men headed to a Knicks game got on. I had nowhere to go when one of them nearly stepped so close as to jeopardize the entire point of my journey.

As the doors began to close, I considered turning the boxes vertically — a sin — when one of the three pulled his friend away from me.

“Hey, man,” he said with a gesture my way. “Respect the pizza!”

— Robert A. Schroeder

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Grouchy Angel

Dear Diary:

I was at a busy intersection in Midtown preoccupied by something I had just recently learned, when, thinking it was our turn to walk, I stepped into the street.

I was only spared from being hit by a taxi because an older woman with a surprisingly strong grip grabbed the back of my shirt and jerked me backward.

With the momentary high of a person who had just cheated death, I spun around with a grin on my face and began thanking her effusively.

She wasn’t impressed and began telling me off for being so careless and not paying attention.

We must have been a sight, me grinning and thanking her, and her scowling and yelling at me.

I promised I would be more careful in the future.

“What am I supposed to do,” she said, “follow you around everywhere?”

— Denise Linville

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Illustrations by Agnes Lee