Now You See Her

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I’D ALREADY TOSSED the driver a twenty and was bouncing up and down like a preschooler last in line for the potty when my taxi finally stopped across from the Hudson hotel on West 58th. I didn’t wait for change, but I did nearly get clipped by an express bus as I got out on the street side and hightailed it across Eighth Avenue.

I didn’t even look at my iPhone as it tried to buzz out of my jacket pocket. By this point, with my full workday and tonight’s party of all parties to plan, I was more surprised when it wasn’t going off.

A sound, deafening even by midtown Manhattan standards, hammered into my ears as I made the corner.

Was it a jackhammer? A construction pile driver?

Of course not, I thought, as I spotted a black kid squatting on the sidewalk, playing drums on an empty Spackle bucket.

Luckily I also spotted my lunch appointment, Aidan Beck, at the edge of the crowded street performance.

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