256/365 05/05/2026

One of the things I love about living in the city: the quiet agreement among us all that public is private as long as you’re doing private things. Like right now, I’m crying on the bus. It’s not important why. Not yet, anyway. But it’s important that I’m crying, and I don’t want to be bothered about it, and everyone agrees that I won’t be bothered. We all know. 

I don’t know if it’s body language or what, but there it is: I’m crying on the bus and there’s something about the way I’m sitting, the way I’m holding myself, and everyone looks the other way. I think if it was different, if I wanted or needed the comfort of strangers, someone would come to my rescue. Or at least offer me a Kleenex. They’d hold out a travel pack and say, “Here,” or, “Clean yourself up.” Something. They’d hold out the tissues and say something, and I’d take the offering and blow my nose and wipe my eyes and maybe hand the package back or slide it into my jacket pocket, depending. We’d all know. And no one would have to explain it or get into the weeds of personal interaction. I like that about this place. 

I like other things, too….