Classic NYC Story

I pass by Green-Wood cemetery on the way to my guitarist’s house (or my former guitarist… I can’t keep my business relationships straight anymore). I don’t usually pass by the cemetary on the way to his house, but I am coming from a different direction. I had an errand to run over near Prospect Park in whatever-the-hell-the-name-of-that-neighborhood-is. (I look it up later. It’s Windsor Terrace.) My thirty minute walk from there to South Slope takes me along 20th street, right on the northern edge of the cemetery.

I don’t know why, but it annoys me a little bit that a cemetary is a historical landmark, regardless of what famous people are buried there.

I am on my way to collect my coffee pot. My mother bought me a coffee pot as a very late birthday present, and I left it at the guitarist’s house by accident last time we rehearsed. I figured it wasn’t a big deal as I was certain to see him again. He cancelled the next rehearsal, and the one after that, and the show after that, and the rehearsal after that. I have seen neither him nor my coffee pot.

I want my coffee pot, though.

I told him I was coming over, but I didn’t say what time. I would have called before leaving for Windsor Terrace, but I left pretty early in the morning on the Saturday after I knew he would be out late, so I waited to call.

Now I’m fifteen minutes from his house. Now I’m calling. He’s not answering. I assume he’s not home.

Actually, no, I assume he’s avoiding me, because I’m paranoid.

I shake my head as I put my cell phone away. The houses on the north side of the street appear relatively low income, but they’re probably expensive, despite being strewn amongst iron-gated warehouses. Rent in New York City is ridiculous, especially when you’re across the street from a historical landmark, even when that landmark is death.

It disturbs me that a cemetary so big should be so crowded.

It further disturbs me that my guitarist (or my former guitarist… he might have quit but I’m not certain yet) is holding my coffee pot hostage. I just want my coffee pot back…

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