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.
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