It’s nasty out, a twisted mixture of rain and snow whose combined effect is like having the city sneeze on you over and over again, and I think the cold has frozen my stomach. I’ve had nothing to eat today but two halves of an egg sandwich and several cups of crappy office hot-beverages. I now have two options:
- Assume I will never need food again
- Eat something anyway, accepting my mild headache as evidence that my body wants sustenance
I will follow the second path, but it is not selfishness that guides me thus. If my hunger disappeared forever, my recent long absences from your sight would become permanent, casting the Internet into a horrible darkness that would make the basement of The Strand seem a paradise in comparison. Have no fear, though, loyal readers! I would never condemn you to such a fate. Even if I had my stomach surgically removed, or stolen by marauders, I would invent meals to tell you of, a careful ruse to keep your faith in humanity from slipping into the mire. (Though for all you know, this has already happened. For all you know, I’ve never eaten at all! For all you know, there’s no such thing as meals!)
Tonight, on my way to class, I’ll visit Le Basket, a deli on 3rd and Broadway that last year served as a haven for myself and a gaggle of writing students brought together by the pleasure of drinking beer outside. Their patio tables, shielded from the city’s law enforcement by an impenetrable force field, allowed us to sit, eat, drink, smoke and (within reason) cavort. For months, in all types of weather, $2 beers were shotgunned and swilled, Dan Akroyd vodka was drunk straight from the bottle, and the NYPD stared on, helpless. Also, we wrote a lot of unpleasant stuff on the bathrooms.
Sometime in the fall, though, the outside tables disappeared, taken away by the owners’ reluctance or inability to renew whatever magical license let us daydrink on Broadway. Whenever asked, the manager promised the tables would be back in “a few weeks, a few weeks,” but that was six months ago and the promise remains unfulfilled. There are tables inside, but if you can’t stare at passing weirdos, where is the fun?
Despite all that heartbreak, they still make pretty good sandwiches. When I leave you, I’ll skip over to 3rd Street and pick up (I think) pastrami on a kaiser. (Inspired by a viewing last night of Comedy Central favorite Delirious, which is currently on Hulu. Apparently it’s the quickest way to acquire the beefy physique of John Candy.) I hope it’s as good as drinking outdoors.
