me in the piazza

I'm a writer, publishing both as SJ Rozan and, with Carlos Dews, as Sam Cabot. (I'm Sam, he's Cabot.) Here you can find links to my almost-daily blog posts, including the Saturday haiku I've been doing for years. BUT the blog itself has moved to my website. If you go on over there you can subscribe and you'll never miss a post. (Miss a post! A scary thought!) Also, I'll be teaching a writing workshop in Italy this summer -- come join us!
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orchids

The nut by the river

There's a guy who hangs around the same area of the park by the river that I do. He's completely insane. He sleeps on the grass or on a bench, but he's not homeless. He comes in in the morning with a backpack, and he's always shaved and wearing clean clothes. Occasionally he talks on a non-existent cell phone.

Through the winter we were the only two people who sat on the benches. After a few months he started nodding hello, with a sweet smile, and I'd smile back. Then he started actually saying hi. I made the mistake of saying "How're you doing?" and he went into a smiling, soft-spoken description of his aches and pains and how they'd go away once the weather warmed up... Then he was gone for a month or so, and came back walking with a metal cane. After the snow melted he started using the cane as a golf club, practicing his swing on the grass.

Yesterday he stopped for actual conversation. He's practicing for the US Open -- next year, not this year. He needs to get in shape. He went on and on, showing me his swing, the difference between young golfers' swings and the way older golfers do it... then he asked if maybe we could have an ice cream cone here on the bench one day.

This morning I went down a few blocks and started hanging in a new place in the park. I didn't like to do it; the object of going to the park was to watch the year change from the same spot at the same hour. And after all, he wasn't unpleasant, and when I told him I was seeing someone (not true) he seemed fine with it.

But he's clearly batty. He already has one situation -- the cane -- that he's converted into an unrealistic obession -- the US Open. If, after telling him I'm seeing someone, I keep showing up where he is, that would be exactly the kind of behavior that could lead him to the idea I'm really interested in him, giving him private signals just between us, etc. On the one hand I feel a little silly, like I should just get over myself. On the other, I wouldn't be that hard to follow home and people who don't take these vibes seriously find themselves with stalkers.

So the nut by the river, who is me, has a new bench to sit on. Mostly the view's the same; the bad news is I can now see two hideous blue buildings in Hoboken that I was happier not knowing about. And I can't see the church anymore. The good news is, I'm closer to the pier where I suspect the flock of ring-necked ducks of nesting, and farther from the geese. I'll get used to it, and I'll let you know.


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