I walk by Jimbo’s most days on my way to work, awkwardly peeking in at the clusters of men hunched over egg sandwiches at the counter. Some read newspapers. A few stools sit unoccupied.
I’d never stopped in, but I did last night, meeting an old friend to catch up over classic diner food. This is not haute cuisine, but it is (what seems to me) the best of New York: a hole in the wall that doesn’t play at pretension, where you can linger over your meal for hours, downing endless cups of coffee and avoiding the cole slaw while you focus on fries.
It’s a slender space, with ten or fifteen stools and three tables squished along the window and the wall. You obviously want to sit on the stools, so you can twist around and gawk at the street scenes. The women in sweat suits. The people pushing strollers. The ambulances heading uptown, sirens blaring, a straight shot to the hospital.
Everyone can hear your conversation, but no one’s all that interested in what you’re saying, which is oddly freeing. A woman enters and orders a chocolate milkshake to go. “How do you make that? With chocolate ice cream, or with chocolate syrup?” The man behind the counter, in a red shirt, describes her options, and she settles on a black-and-white instead. She pays her tab with a handful of quarters and heads out.
Espressoing
A few more days
A final Hi meeting
The local neighborhood bar has a quiet time between six and nine. It is a place that specializes in coffee, beer and seasonal menus. There is just enough of each for a satisfying snack and effective buzz. After the time when the laptop lids close and before the social gatherings start -- there is a sort of twilight*. Often this time is a fugitive ground rife with creative inspiration and meditative work -- of the kind that results in personal reward.*twilight may refer to civil, nautical or astronomical variety depending on your social or terrestrial condition
A man positions his mouse on the edge of his browser window. He clicks, holds and drags the viewport first left then right. The content of a video game promo micro site responds and adapts to the available space. To the man, this is more delightful than the game itself.
A man laboriously moves his piano down three levels onto the subway platform. Classic vocals and strided chords -- he played so well I swore he was blind. Oblivious to the heat on that August stage, he was most in touch with his audience -- whom he elevated with his music.
A woman should do exactly as she pleases no matter what a man may think.
As the Dalai Lama once said, "It is a time when there is much in the window, but nothing in the room."
"No one understands me," she said. Her grandmother was silent for a minute. It seemed she was searching for an answer in the star speckled sky. "But no one understands anyone in this world, darling. We are all unique. It is what gives us a sense of wonder."