METROPOLITAN DIARY
Neighbors
Dear Diary:
The first time I met my Brooklyn neighbor, he was sitting outside with a friend, cigar in hand, on a hot July evening. Beach chairs on the sidewalk. Tank top under an unbuttoned button-down. Sweat on a bald head.
“Man, how do I have that much fun?” I asked him.
“That’s easy,” he said, a tooth missing from his smile. “Be a New Yorker.”
We’ve become friends since then, the kind that stop and talk long enough — him in his Bronx accent — that I know he’s been divorced, is often in love and works as a public defender. He’s annoyed about the rats on the block and hires a friend to plant his front yard each spring.
One morning, he told me that his cat, Fidel, had died. Fidel was beloved; I have photos of him posing on various stoops on the block. My neighbor didn’t sound sad when he told me what had happened, but his animated gestures seemed meant to hide the loss he felt.
That evening, a guy who hangs around the bodega nearby came around with a mango box. He knocked on my neighbor’s door. When he came out, the guy nodded and opened the box.
A tiny kitten peeked its head out.
— Laura Buccieri
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/06/26/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html
= new reply since forum marked as read
