It’s hard to believe that it was just about six weeks ago that I was in New York City for the third date of the Marty Monologues Pre-Teen Hippie Show!
The day after the show I had lunch with my friend Clare who came to New York with me for the show. After lunch we walked over to my old neighborhood in New York near Union Square Park and we wandered into the Strand Book Store.
We split up and while Clare looked at books, I noticed two people, a man and a woman, at the front of the store who were dressed up in vintage clothes and each had a typewriter in front of them.
I walked up to the female because I like women better than men and asked what they were doing there.
She told me that they were poets spending the afternoon at the book store. I asked her if she lived in the city and she told me that she did. She asked me if I lived in New York and I told her that I live in Peoria, Illinois and that I was just visiting, but that I used to live in New York.
She asked me to tell her my story so I explained that I moved to New York in 1993 to pursue my writing career.
I asked her if she had ever been to the Mars Bar and she said she hadn’t. I explained how it was one of my favorite places in New York and that it broke my heart when they tore it down and put up a bank in the spot where it used to stand.
I told her that it was then that I started to get disillusioned with New York City.
I then told her that I lost my job in 2012 and got really depressed and decided to move back to my hometown of Peoria and start a blog back here.
I then explained that things have gone well for me here and that I have no regrets about what has happened in my life. I said that I felt somewhat lucky about the way things have gone for me.
She listened to me talk a little further about how the show has opened up a new chapter in my life and then she told me that it was one of the more interesting stories she heard all day. That made me feel good.
Then she put her fingers on the typewriter and within seconds typed up the following poem.
“the places we drank
suddenly turn into banks
home feels fun again
She peeled the paper out of the typewriter and said, “This is for you.”
I read it and was amazed how she turned my story into a succinct and meaningful three line poem.
I thanked her and said, “This really means a lot to me.”
She smiled and I shook her hand and wished her well and walked off to go find Clare.
At that moment I was happy to be in New York City one more time.
It felt like fun again.