The Daily Tannenbaum

Last night I ventured to the city for a party with a group of young book people. As soon as the train pulled into Manhattan, I sent a text message to The Man of Action which said, “I’m in the city!” Evidently he did not understand that the subtext of the message which was, “and you should come and join me, and by the way, can I crash at your place because I don’t want to take the train home at three in the morning. I’ll be waiting patiently for your answer at your local bar.” After many hours of chatting and eating nachos it was time to go to bed, and I still hadn’t heard from him. Just before midnight, as I contemplated the possibility of taking the subway to my old apartment to see if the new resident had a spare bed, The Man of Action awoke from his slumber and returned my call. Because he’s awesome, he inflated the air mattress for me, and I had a handful of hours of blissful sleep in his living room before waking up way to early to catch the first train upstate.

On the walk from his place to Grand Central, I decided to take my walk of shame through Times Square, because that’s where non-residents like to go, and it’s mostly tolerable in the pre-dawn hours before all the crowds crowd it up with their crowding. As I walked down 7th Avenue, it was good to see that the deli that was once the bookstore where I used to work and the strip club next to the deli that was once the bookstore where I used to work and the guys who sell bagels and coffee in “it’s a pleasure to serve you” cups out of mobile carts and the cops of the rough and tumble Midtown South precinct and the huge chain stores dotting the avenue and the cast and crew of Good Morning America seem to still be there, even if I’m not.