Introductions

He sits and the clock ticks. He wants them to see him. He sees them all the time: at Higher Grounds, at Liberty Lands, at the Piazza. Here they are at 700 and he doesn't want much, just small talk.

He's employed various tactics already. At Higher Grounds he once spilled coffee at their feet. At Liberty Lands he tossed a Frisbee that landed right beside them. At the Piazza he did tricks on his skateboard, brushing past them. Never the most direct approach, though, a simple introduction. It made sense to him logically and yet felt like it would be weird.

Today, at 700, he eavesdrops. Their conversations sound so interesting, so appealing! Their dialogue so crisp. Even the pauses – he stares at them during the pauses – they look so happy during the pauses. How can people be so content during pauses in conversation? Is it because they're drunk? They drink it all down so smoothly – beer, wine, whiskey – the bartender keeps pouring and they just keep drinking. One speaks more than the other.

"Missanelli's right, you can't play a guy over Ryan Howard just because he hit well in Double A and Howard doesn't hit lefties."

The other guy shakes his head. "Can't do that to a veteran. Bad for clubhouse morale. . . ."

"She looks innocent but I can tell you she's not. I can assure you. . . ."

"We saw the Pixies that year, right after Bush's second term began. Where were we? Cleveland. Yes, Cleveland. . . ."

He hears these snippets and knows they could all be the best of friends. He's a Phillies fan, he's heterosexual, he likes the Pixies. He's even been to Cleveland.

He knows what he's going to do. It has to work! When the really chatty one is mid-sentence, he'll time it just right.

"So tomorrow night it's the Nationals. We still have an outside chance if—"

"Oh, excuse me," he says as he pretends to trip over himself, knocking into one of the two young men, the one called Garret.

Garret brushes himself off, repositioning his chair. "No problem, dude."

Garret and Joseph stare at the guy who just bumped into Garret, waiting for him to go on wherever he was going before he slipped and bumped into Garret, but the guy just stands there, staring.

"Fine day for a beverage, is it not?" he asks them, instantly regretting his choice of words.

But Garret and Joseph look at each other and then back at him, raise their glasses. Garret says, "Indeed it is! A fine day for a beverage."

His eyes light up. He's satisfied, then elated. "Good day, gentlemen." He turns and leaves the bar, goes about his day, feeling he's one step closer to his destiny, that of being their friend.

Albert's Decision

Albert’s eyes open and close and open again to a bright, white light too intense for his sunglasses.  Arms spread across the back of the park bench, the point of his nose perpendicular to the cloudless sky above, mouth gaping, he falls in and out of sleep until his chin dives forward and crashes into his chest, startling him.

He pushes a button on the side of his phone to brighten the display and sees it’s a quarter past noon.  Could’ve spent three hours already on the Liberty Lands’ bench and he’d know no better, though he only arrived about fifteen minutes ago. 

About twenty feet away from Albert a shaggy dog jumps up and catches a Frisbee in his mouth and trots back to a man and a child presumably the man’s son.  The kid, perhaps three or four years old, laughs hysterically at the dog’s achievement.  Albert thinks about what he and his friends did the previous night, their laughter and then their lack thereof, and he imagines what the kid would think if Albert told him all about it.

A short while later Albert returns to his apartment, deletes a name and number from his phone, and sleeps until sundown.