a park bench outside bleecker park

I was up and out before D'Agostino's opened, so I got a coffee and looked for a perch in the sun. It's 60 degrees, I'm freezing. Bleecker Park's closed, too, and the benches were shaded, but it was a place to sit. I got so engrossed in the chapter I was reading for class I was surprised to look up and see people in the park. In a flash I felt lonely.

I thought about calling someone. Who would I call? Who was this couple in the park with children? How did they find each other, mate, and carry on? She was about to drop another one, too. Will I ever meet anyone again. Horror of horrors, I found myself missing a former and completely unsuitable lover.

To my left a woman came jerking into frame. Cerebral palsey? How did she get up, go out, survive in the city, manage even to look cute, hair and makeup. I was completely in charge of my faculties, and I'd barely managed to wash my face and brush my teeth before leaving the house. And I was feeling sorry for myself? I wondered what she looked like when she sat still. If she could sit still, or if the electrical tremors that sent her limbs flying as she walked down the street caused a constant commotion.

A shoeless man came stumbling out of the park, mumbling to himself, collecting stray bits from the ground. Store had to be open, right. Up and at 'em.

Before I crossing the street I saw her again, to my left. She stood at the bus shelter, leaned into it at odd angles. Still enough. Cell phone clamped to her ear, she chatted away with a friend.