the 59th street bridge it is breathtaking, enthralling, ominous in the light rain and fog and traffic. next to the bridge towers a smokestack that emits a dense grey billow against the sky. cablecar trams come and go from Roosevelt island. there is a grocery store in the foot of the bridge. the ceilings are vaulted tiled brick. rain makes traffic louder but softens the sounds you hear. i went to an Israeli locksmith to have a set of keys made. talk radio was on. two gentlemen were also having a conversation. the guy who helped me was slow and patient. i opened the lid of my coffee and browsed the shelves of miniature hardware store fare. the sounds and music of electronic and human voices in a language i’ll never understand mingled and soothed me as i waited thinking about how to misuse the things for sale: overhead sealant, rat poison, light switches, bolts, screws, mosquito repellant, chemical salts, hinges, screwdrivers, capricorn keychains. most choices come to: build or destroy. on the counter was a page of laboriously written words in english and the entire uppercase alphabet. words crossed out, corrected and more clearly written. mother, israel, mountain. below each character its Hebrew equivalent. by the time i got my keys the conversant customer beside me was long gone with his own fresh set of keys made by the other worker in practically instantaneous fashion that didn’t seem to interfere with my own worker’s pace. the fast guy ran the register cleared the lessons off the counter and told me to have a good day with piercing luminous blue eyes. i stepped out the door. coffee, umbrella, keys. turned right almost fell over at the sight of bridge, fog and smokestack. lit the second half of a stolen cigarette i saved in my pocket. looked at the bridge. walked under it twirling the broken umbrella.
why i am a nomad: