This New York Morning

This one is the kind of morning that you can listen to. The grey gloom, the light rain, the splash of the car wheels as they skate through puddles. It’s the kind of morning that begs for hot oatmeal, and so on my way to the office I stopped inside a tiny coffee shop and ordered one, along with a heaping warm cortado.

The pony-tailed barista, who I’ve never seen wearing a belt, but who tends to tuck his denim button-down shirt into his ladies jeans, gives me a wink. I suppose since his hands were busy pulling a shot of espresso, this was his only available non-verbal gesture of greeting.

The reason I’m telling you this is that two strange things happened next. I sat next to two people engaged in a rather serious conversation. The man, sitting to my left, tall, wearing a bowler and plaid button down, as is customary, appeared to be the object of sympathy, while the woman sitting his opposite, glasses, pony tail, seemed to be the vehicle for its delivery.

Someone close to the man had passed away. He was old, he was angry, he had an obsession with sex, as “a child of the 50’s, 60’s, and 70’s New York City… I’d imagine that he was the kind of guy who prowled for girls, back in the day.”

Whoever he was, they spoke of him as some kind of New York icon —an artist maybe, or a writer — and the woman lived in his building, and talked about her interactions with him, and her own coping process with his recent departure. He was a bit of a force in their lives, sometimes scary, sometimes brilliant. The man had known him since he was a boy. His mother introduced them. He initially rebelled, and then grew fond of the old man. The recently deceased was the kind of New York City that we newcomers only read about and romanticize, and sometimes imitate, but rarely ever know.

I wasn’t exactly eaves dropping, but it was hard to ignore it. It was such a personal conversation, in such a public place, although in a sense it felt like they were performing.

I looked up from my computer and noticed that my friend Kai had appeared at the counter, and that he was ordering coffee with someone who could only have been his girlfriend. I shouted his name across the coffee shop, and he came over to say hello after finishing his order.

I asked him why he was so dressed up (he was wearing a tie and let it be noted that, unlike the barista, a belt). “I’m getting married today,” he laughed.

He and his fiance were on their way to the courthouse to make things official, and were stopping in for a coffee on the way. ”Do you really want to get married to me before I’ve had my morning coffee?” she smiled as Kai introduced her, while she explained their quick stop-off on the way to the courthouse.

New York City is still romantic. And beyond our tendency for nostalgia and on a morning that is otherwise forgettable, I’m reminded of it.