I am going to the West Village to meet Carol to see Punk Rock, an off-Broadway play that recently opened to great reviews.
On the subway heading downtown is an adorable little boy. While everyone else sits in silence, he is talking about anything and everything. He tells me his name is Jimmy, and I guess him to be between four and five. “I’ll be five in January,” he specifies. Jimmy is looking out the window as the #1 train speeds through the dark underground tunnel. There is little to see, but he watches anyway. His dad tells me that his son loves the subway. “In fact,” he says, “that’s what we are doing today. Just riding the subway. He’s been on every line except the Z.” I didn’t even know there was a Z line. “What’s your favorite subway?” I ask him. “The #7 because it goes to Shea Stadium, and I love the Mets,” Jimmy answers with pride.
Before exiting, Jimmy’s dad let’s me take his picture for this blog.
I get to the theater a few minutes before the play starts. My phone rings; it’s Carol. “I am so sorry. I took a cab to the wrong address, and now I’ll never make it on time.” She’s at the headquarters for MCC theater in midtown, not the West Village theater where the play is being staged.
It would have been so much nicer to have been with Carol than to be alone. This ferociously gripping play leaves me with much to talk about. Like Jimmy, the young characters in this play are on a long ride to nowhere, though their trip is far from being an enjoyable one.