These are not stories.

The bald man with glasses felt bold for once in his life. It was a hot and clear summer day. The park was crowded: college kids sitting with their roommates under trees; parents pushing their babies in strollers while their toddlers chased pigeons; drunk guys staggering and yelling about how the fountain should be turned back on; skaters grinding rails while simultaneously impressing and annoying tourists; tourists in awe of the Arch and the fuck-me vibe of finally visiting the Big Apple. This is where they all go together to share their hopes and dreams.

And the bald man’s hopes and dreams were to be with the lady in black. She was sitting on a bench by herself, sucking on a popsicle, watching all the activity. He had been watching her for a few minutes from across the park. The sun hit his face in just the right way to give him that spark to try something new for once in his life. There was no reason she would be interested in him. She was much too attractive and punk for him. Her tattoos would eat him alive. But what dignity did he have left to lose? He might as well rip off his cargo shorts and red polo shirt and run around like a crazy person screaming about waking up and smelling the revolution.

So he woke up and sat down next to her and said hello. She looked at his bald head and glasses, took a suck of her popsicle, and said hello. And they sat there for a while, talking, smiling, laughing, enjoying the day.

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