A Tuesday Night in SoHo

 Happy Tuesday! Here's what I did a few Tuesday's ago (and forgot to post until now)...

 

 

I stood outside the Housing Works Bookstore on a windy Tuesday evening and talked to TBK on the phone while I waited in line for the Moth Story Slam. It was only the second one I've attended live, and DH and I had been meaning to meet up for it for weeks. In between sirens rushing past and the chatter of other story slam enthusiasts in the background, I held my iPhone close to my ear and TBK and I talked about feeling dumb at work and getting to see each other in a couple of weeks. She had to go and I had to go, and DH walked up to the line at the perfect time as we were getting off the phone. DH joined me in line and it slowly began to creep up around the corner of the block toward the bookstore entrance. Just as we were about to get in, there was an announcement that the bookstore was at capacity and we wouldn't be able to get in. No story slam for us. Total bummer.

 

 Not to waste a perfectly good Tuesday night in SoHo, DH and I found a cute pub a couple blocks away, and instead of listening to stories all night, we told our own. I looked at D's cute Puerto Rican curl as he told me all about his roommates and his neighborhood. We exchanged stories about the difficulty, yet worthiness, of leaving South Dakota for NYC.  We talked about street performers and all the times we've seen someone urinating on the subway.

 

After a couple of beers and some amazing hummus, we parted ways on opposite sides of the subway platform. I was going uptown; he was going downtown. On the D train home, a rockabilly guitarist stood standing, serenading me (and the rest of the subway car) from Broadway all the way to 125th, playing non-stop. It was one of the only times that I have really wanted to give money to a subway performer, but at no point did he ask. He just kept playing, whistling occasionally, and when I stepped off the train at my stop, the last few notes followed me home.