Wicked Witch of Park Slope

It all started with me feeling obligated to go out because I bothered to get dressed on a Saturday. It ended with ABC News footage of me crying and calling people names.

New Yorkers like privacy. It’s bad enough that strangers—usually smelly and crass—obtrude in our physical space on the subway and sidewalks and shops every day. (Once a man fell asleep on my shoulder on a subway over the East River. The other day, a band groupie started bouncing her hefty posterior an inch from my coffee shop table.) When I go out, I expect some personal bubbles to remain unbroken. I may have to be touched, but I don’t want to be talked to, hit on, troubled, disturbed, or have my equilibrium in any way mussed.

So when I purchased my coffee and rugelach, climbed up on my stool and opened my book in a quiet Park Slope coffee shop, I expected my personal peace to remain at least partly intact.

To read the rest, go to Patrol Magazine.

~ by stultiloquence on September 1, 2008.

5 Responses to “Wicked Witch of Park Slope”

  1. When you’re a famous author, that footage will be worth millions.

  2. Your writing has been improving exponentially over short periods of time this last year. I honestly was less than impressed many times before that, but I am fully the opposite now. It’s very tight and concise without losing meaning or becoming “newsy.”

    I wish bad stuff didn’t happen.

  3. oh my, a. you are amazing. let’s talk about this on the phone sometime.

  4. Alisa,
    This is a great story. I laughed out loud. You should submit it to the New Yorker or some other big, worthy magazine. Great writing, and I’m sorry for the traumatic experience.

  5. I loved this — especially since I could picture all your actions in the coffee shop. One day I hope to write as well as you.

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