‘Unfortunately, the packet got stuck in the branch’

Dear Diary:

I was expecting a friend to visit me at my fourth-floor Manhattan walk last summer. In the full-time New York City way, when she called to say she had arrived, I opened the window and threw a package with the front door key inside for her.

Unfortunately, the packet got caught on a tree branch with all its glorious leaves. My friend, Jocelyn, asked two passing women to help unpack the package.

The three of them grabbed the trunk and tried to shake it, but the tree didn’t move. One of the women took off one of her new white sneakers and threw it in the package a few times. On the fourth attempt, the shoelace got stuck on a branch.

The other woman, hoping to knock down her shoe, threw her stick at the tree. Several throws later, the stick got caught in a branch. Without a goodbye or a wave, they limped down 9th Avenue.

Winter comes and all the leaves fall on the tree. The shoe is still hanging there. The packet and the stick are nowhere to be found.

– Shela Xoregos

Dear Diary:

I’m on my way home from work. I got off at my stop, Queens Plaza, and was walking down the platform when I saw someone with dozens of balloons trying to get on the train.

The doors started to close, and the person on the other end of the balloons was trying to pull them inside in time.

I jumped and three balloons flew into the car – Pop! Bap! Bap! – like I was playing Whac-a-Mole.

There were so many balloons that I couldn’t see who was holding them, and they couldn’t see me either. The door closed and the train drove off. I walked home with a big smile on my face.

– Liz Khoo

Dear Diary:

I just moved to New York from Texas, and I love going to the grocery stores in the city’s small neighborhood. They were so different from the big suburban ones I was used to.

One day, I went to Grace’s Market on the Upper East Side and I overheard a customer questioning the man behind the counter.

“Do you have fresh escargot?” customer said.

“No,” said the bartender. “But we have snails in a can!”

– Kate Marcus

Dear Diary:

It was the first week of April last year. Having recently returned to work, I feel relieved and completely overwhelmed to return to the hectic work load.

Sitting in Tompkins Square Park on my mid-morning break, I received a tip about a last-minute problem with a client and called a colleague for help.

“I will scream,” I say into the phone. “This guy on the bench next to me is going to freak out.”

I glanced at the man smoking in silence. He seems, like me, to be in his mid to late 20s.

After the call ended, I growled angrily and buried my face in the email.

“Is that your scream?” the man on the bench said. He is grinning.

“Oh, no,” I blurted out. I blushed. “I can not do that.”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted. “I’ll do it with you.”

And to my surprise, he began to scream, loud enough to disturb a few pigeons but shallow enough to assure passersby of the kind nature of the situation.

Bewildered and desperate not to leave him alone, I – against every instinct I got – began to scream as well. The few seconds that mingled with the cacophony quickly turned into general laughter, and I comfortably sat down on the bench with a smile.

Before long, the park was quiet again, and the pigeons settled back into their scavenging business. The man got up, wished me a good day, and walked away.

I was confused and short of breath and felt so much better.

– Morgan Golumbuk

Dear Diary:

When my wife and I got married, we chose to go to the City Clerk’s office in Lower Manhattan. Only my wife’s brother and sister-in-law accompanied us. Arriving, we numbered and sat on a bench to wait our turn in one of the small wedding chapels.

As we sat there, we marveled at the range of other couples’ outfits, everything from a man in a tuxedo with a woman in a mini skirt to a couple in T-shirts, shorts, and t-shirts. wear flip flops.

The numbers are called as much as in the Department of Motor Vehicles. When we heard the news, we entered the small chapel and met the person who was going to marry us.

“Which service do you prefer,” he asked. “Short or long version?”

We asked what the difference was.

“About a minute,” he replied.

– Kenneth Sinclair

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Illustration by Agnes Lee

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