Flibbertigibbet

I'll Say Something to Him Next Time I See Him on My Fire Escape

It's a good thing I was in a rush. Or maybe that wouldn't actually have mattered. But I really think I was going to say something to the guy, a complete stranger, but I was in a rush.

I was heading to 7th Avenue to meet a friend at the 57th St N,Q,R,W station by Carnegie Hall so that we could head up to the Loew's cinemas on Broadway near Lincoln Center. He was late.

Almost everyone in New York is late. It is next to impossible to accurately or consistently plan one's travel times here if you have to depend on anything but instantaneous teleportation. Since most folks use the trains here tardiness is simply the way things are.

Either that or you're sociopathically early, which is rare for most people but afflicts me with some regularity especially when I'm trying to keep my psychosis a secret. Right now, I'm in denial so, I'm blaming my German heritage for my compulsive need to be early. I'm also digressing.

I was walking along when I spotted a man ahead taking pictures, ostensibly of the squatty little apartment buildings that occupy the northwest-most corner of Hell's Kitchen where I live.

He snapped a photo. I saw him check it in the screen of his digital camera as I approached. I was still far enough away when he looked at me that I could look back without turning my head or even diverting my attention from the sidewalk ahead of me.

He brought his camera up and appeared to fuss with the focus.

I shifted my path so that I would pass wide of him and out of the frame. I kept my eyes directed ahead but I watched him in my peripheral vision.

He tracked me with his camera and took a photo.

My head snapped left. I was glaring but he was already reviewing the photo with a small smile on his face.

I got a stride or two past him and watched him bring his camera up to take another picture of the buildings. By then he was facing away from me, but he was close enough that he had to know I was looking directly at him, but he refused to acknowledge me.

I slowed my walk momentarily while I contemplated turning back to ask him about his problem.

On one hand, it's somewhat flattering in a way. On the other hand, it's creepy and I don't it. He didn't ask my permission to take my picture. He just took it.

But I was late, so I kept walking and dug my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed.

"Some dude just took my picture!"