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I cross the street from West 82nd and head
into the icy breeze down Broadway with cigarettes on my mind. Along the
way to the cheap hotel I catch glimpses of people staring from inside
downtown restaurants. Occasionally they lift an arm ape-like to bring
an overloaded fork to the mouth. The breeze tucks the smell of pizzas
and burgers into the cold skies.
On my way back from the book-reading at the uptown book store downtown
I peek through the restaurant windows to find an unknown partner for sharing
a cigarette. The one or two I saw in the bars didn't look poetic so I
kept on strolling.
Behind me, a couple argues, first in Spanish, then Italian. A hobo asks
for money in Portuguese, quickly repeating the request in fluent English.
The old language seemed to have got stuck at second base in these downtown
streets. Only the oversized yellow motorcars reminds me that I am in modern
Manhattan.
I opened the door of a late-night breakfast parlour to order the two-dollar
special which included off-tap Pepsi gurgling gasfilled into a pint-sized
paper cup. Nowhere in the restaurant did it indicate that cigarette smoking
was not permitted but when I inquire the Colombian waitress steers me
to a back corner where the seats have little view.
I light the cigarette and immediately feel unwelcome. Is it not strange
that a smog-filled town with dirty streets is treating cigarette smoking
more serious than its serious aids problem? Isn't it weird that women
who look slapped-around-a-bit are the first to volunteer for a TV interview
about public smoking? How odd that people are loud-voiced about everything
that anybody else does but so sensibly silent on their own sinning
Smoking is like having sex in an open plan office during lunch time. I
inhaled the warm cigarette smoke and look out the bit of window allowed,
at pedestrians rushing along, they are probably catching a glimpse to
see if there is anybody smoking in here. I'm not sure which side of the
cage I'm in.
The Colombian waitress asks for a light. Her smoke break, I presume.
"Everybody complain," she mumbles and then disappears beneath
the nonsmoking sign into the kitchen.
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