Umbrella Story

By the way, did you notice the umbrella here? It was a good umbrella. It was a very good umbrella. That umbrella and I will have a lot of memories - five hours worth, in fact. I bought it that morning from a vendor of parasols and associated materials on 49th Street and 2nd Avenue. It lasted me all the way to the park and then some of the way back.

Somewhere between 80th and 50th street, the wind decided to start playing silly buggers with it. It turned the umbrella out, so I rotated the umbrella to the other side of my body and let the wind turn it in again. The wind changed direction and turned the umbrella out, so I switched the umbrella back and it blew back in again. Then the wind started really fucking my umbrella up; I swung it here, there, everywhere, but the wind seemed obsessed with turning it out the wrong way. Finally, I gave it up for dead and dumped the useless thing in the bin at the end of the block.

Things weren't all bad, though. Later I popped into the restaurant P J Bernstein on 1215 3rd Avenue, between 70th and 71st streets. True flaneur and epicurean Nottlesby, and his cousin Herr Nottlestein, would doubtless appreciate this venue, serving dishes such as soup with matzoh ball and Borscht. Even better, it's just down the road from one of the only real espresso coffee venues in New York. A small consolation for the loss of my umbrella.

Now if you excuse me, I have to go and stand outside a venue on 2nd Avenue, and yell loud Yiddish imprecations at the staff.