You are currently browsing stories tagged with “Men.”
Evan Krasnik is a 59 year-old man who wakes up at 6 AM most mornings. He scuttles toward the shared bathroom in his pajamas and sandals and bangs on the door. “Jim, when are you going to get out of the bathroom? What if you never get out of the bathroom?” Afterwards, he eats a bowl of cereal, using a [...]
Most evenings will find Michael Johnson, a New York City Police Officer, sitting at home alone in front of his TV with a bottle of Hennessy near by. Hennessy is top shelf he says. It doesn't leave you with a hangover. Michael doesn't drink every night to get drunk, according to Michael. He doesn't even drink to unwind from a [...]
In 1802, Uriah Phillips Levy ran away to sea at the age of ten. He returned two years later, as he had promised his mother, to prepare for his bar mitzvah. Then he apprenticed to a Philadelphia shipowner. In our day of wooden men and iron ships, "learning the ropes" is a cliche. To Levy, it was life and death. [...]
Jon Voight he was not. But the Midnight Cowboy rides again in the Big Apple. It was twilight, late April, 2001. A cool breeze blew from the East River as I waited for the Manhattan bound J train at Marcy Avenue. The J ferries passengers, mostly working folks, across the Williamsburg Bridge from Brooklyn into Lower Manhattan. On the Brooklyn [...]
Here is one of the more interesting faces on 11th street: Electronic Ed, so named for his uncanny knack for finding electronic devices in still working condition. There are few people with a keener aesthetic eye wandering around than Ed, who in spite of his disheveled appearance is often carrying all sorts of elegant and eccentric objects. This morning the [...]
I met the homeless man during a late night cigarette break on my apartment's stoop. He was a black man wearing a tan barn jacket in the dead of winter; it was stained and full of holes. The man was friendly, though, and he smiled at me with a toothy, unshaven face. He pointed at my pack of Winston's and [...]
Brother Theodore astonishes David Letterman Brother Theodore was always a ghost to me. When I returned to Manhattan in the early 1990s, Theodore was a specter haunting downtown. His one-man show, terrible and comic all at once, was still running on 13th Street, and posters boosting the show were everywhere. I saw them at the buildings at the New School [...]
There is a man who looks just like Hemingway who lives on India Street in Brooklyn in a building called the Astral, a dismal place with huge arching windows to remind you of its past glamour as an apartment building for international sailors (Mae West is said to have been born there). He lives right above a woman named Maria [...]
I hadn't thought of Tiny Teeth in years. But there he was, invoked I guess, by my having told Tom (the manager of the small bookstore I own on the Upper West Side) about him earlier in the day. We don't really hire high school kids, but I'd taken Tiny Teeth on about 10 years ago as a favor to [...]
During the summer, approximately 25 to 35 students occupy the brownstone at 305 W. 29th St. and Eighth Avenue, a few blocks from Penn Station and Madison Square Garden. I’m living on the third floor, flanked by the kitchen and the staircase; paying a weekly rent of about $200 for a single room with a view of the cigarette butts [...]
As a kid growing up in Brooklyn, much of my life was based on routine. Some I couldn't avoid, some I depended on. Tuesday nights we ate veal cutlets pounded thin by my mother, then breaded, fried and served with a splash of lemon juice. Fridays we had Nona's pizza, rolled out on the flour-covered wooden board on the kitchen [...]
I wanted to be a writer for The Jon Stewart Show and figured that sending them a resume would be like sending junk mail; it would get tossed. I needed to do something with impact. So I did the logical thing. I bought a pair of white jockey shorts (size large, so there would be ample space for me to [...]
There were police all around the fruit man. He stood there next to his fruit. His stand is on the North East corner of 87th and Lexington, across from Starbucks, and whenever I pass by I buy an apple for fifty cents. Or sometimes bannanes. He is a gracious guy, am immigrant, his softness of manner has made him many [...]
I was sitting in my 4th floor fire escape window on a hot summer afternoon, watching the sparse street life on 3rd St., a few people sitting around on our buildings stoop, a couple of guys had lawn chairs, a few guys standing outside the bodega...like that. Mine was a junky/hippie building, yeasty like the rest of the neighborhood, shit [...]
This story is part of the novel, The Sleep-Over Artist ** Arnold Gerstein often took friends to his father's club, the Harmonie, on 61st Street just off Fifth Avenue, where they could "use the facilities" (as Arnold's father put it) for free. They would shoot hoops on the small basketball court, whose wooden floor had taken on a yellow-orange patina [...]
1.The Crystal Ballroom Stephen Malkmus stands in the back. The dark club is packed packed, and he peers beneath bangs, shoulders slouched, a hint of atheleticism to them. He is a tall, slender figure with high cheekbones, checking out the crowd like a secret service agent, or a local hero about to make a cameo. Jackpot, a local record store, [...]
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