Today’s soundtrack: the fifth-floor landing smells of fish
Today at 6:02pm: chopping up an eggplant while garlic sizzles in the pan


Did I tell you the shitbox diner closed down? Well it did, they closed it around six months ago. It was owned by this old white guy. You never saw him though, just the Mexicans who ran the place day and night, night and day.

The sidewalk story goes that the Mexicans were dipping into the till, so Owner Guy fired everyone and got behind the counter himself, turning the diner into a one-man show. No one came to see it. He ran the business into the ground inside of a month, and next thing I know the door’s locked and the place is empty. Nothing but cobwebs, ghosts and cockroaches.

So, no more late night heart-attack sandwiches for me. I used to eat there at four in the morning and flip through the Daily News’ crime briefs and stare out the filthy window at nocturnal New York going by. Mostly truck drivers and cabbies at that hour, and if you stayed ‘til five you’d get your share of morning delivery drivers and the occasional drunken partygoers getting a bite to vomit before stumbling home.

Real salt-of-the-Earth type of people, with the exception of the partygoers. No one ever hassled me or paid me any mind, it was perfect.

So now I’ve got one less place to go. The attrition rate of my hangout spots is abominable and has been steadily outstripping my new discoveries since the early ‘90s. When the weather warms up I’ll start going for more late-night walks.

I don’t really care what happened to the owner, but I wonder what happened to the Mexicans. We were friendly to each other.

I guess I like people who make me sandwiches. Especially if it’s a well-constructed, ergonomic sandwich. Most deli guys and fast-food burger jerks couldn’t give a fuck, they throw their sauce-spilling sandwiches together with absolutely no consideration for how many of their napkins you’ll have to use to get through it all. And half the time they give you those Dagwood shits where you have to hyperextend your jaw to get it around the damn thing.

But not those guys at the shitbox. They made those sandwiches like they had a degree in engineering. Ah, it’s a shame.