men

Some of them can be quite persuasive.

You have your law text with you. (I do.)
You can call and find out about postponing your meeting. (I can.)
Do you want to stay until the conclusion of the trial? (This from Ed, and the answer is yes, I do.)

We’re at a critical juncture in the proceedings and things are at an explosive stage. There is a trial within a trial as various parties are scrambling to throw in their version of what they would like you to believe before the whole thing shuts down. In other words, a circus!


We eat an attorney’s lunch at the place just around the corner from the courthouse (Allbella). The waiter is happy to tell me that I can have an espresso. As of this spring, we have the machine!

Okay. Thanks. Make it a double.

We walk back from the courthouse and think to the days ahead. Tomorrow there is another pause in the proceedings, giving me time to catch up with work. Wednesday, the drama resumes, but only briefly. We expect to be home Thursday or Friday.



On our walk back to Bleecker, we pass the well tended these days world of SoHo. A guy is giving his point of view and it strikes me that everything about him exudes confidence.





...and, north of Houston, enter the more quirky world of the Village. I’m so used to seeing younger adults here – maybe because older types can’t handle the constant stair climbing in the elevator-less buildings. But, there are the exceptions.





There’s a grocery store here and I suggest we pick up a few essentials so that we can cut back on snacking on the run. The store is predictably expensive, but we get the bananas and the tasteless crackers that’ll work well with the $6 bottle of Cava we hauled in earlier.

A few steps before our entrance to the walk-up, we pass a pizza joint. New York style pizza, eaten at a narrow counter, on the run. Thin crust and light marinara. A slice with mushrooms, Ed says.





I think to myself – I’m glad I’m here. Even an occasional traveling companion needs a helping hand, or a person with whom he can share a pizza slice. And of course, the trial is at this point riveting. Speeding along to a brilliant (I hope) denouement. In the alternative, I’m picking up a truck load of observations on trying a complicated family/property case and enjoying feeling just a little like a New Yorker again.


Late, very late, we cross Bleecker and eat supper at a table on the sidewalk. Spanish rice on a warm spring evening.





But why is it that the half dozen photos I took today are all of men?