METROPOLITAN DIARY

[elleng]

This Is My Block
Dear Diary:

This is my block, 17th Street between Second and Third. I own it.

I’m not a real estate tycoon. I was born here. While the doctor and the cabdriver argued about whose car to take, out I came, on a snowy sidewalk, under the shadow of the Third Avenue El.

Back then, New York was a series of small towns strung together. On our block, my friends and I knew every neighbor, and they knew us.

We played in the street all day until dark. I recognize every crack in the sidewalk, every stoop where we gossiped, every pole we climbed and every fire hydrant we jumped over. (It does seem as if the fire hydrants have shrunk over the years.)

Now, when I come back to this block, something happens.

I suppose on the outside, I look like an older woman. On the inside, while I’m here, it’s magic. I become that young kid again. The aches and pains disappear. I can run and I can skip. When I walk home, the feeling stays with me the whole way. It happens every time.

Yessiree, I own this block.

Or perhaps it owns me.

— Talara Ruth

‘What’s Going On?’
Dear Diary:

It was a mundane Thursday that was melting into all the other look-alike workdays.

I went to the bodega to get my morning coffee as usual.

“What’s going on?” I asked the guy there.

“Nothing,” he said. “But what’s yet to come is incredible.”

— Julia Lansford

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/04/11/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html

[fierywoman]

1. Thank you.