METROPOLITAN DIARY
Hey, Babe
Dear Diary:
I was at a bagel shop on Lorimer Street on a very busy Sunday morning. The crowd of people waiting for their orders was packed to the walls. I and another young man had been waiting up against the counter for a while.
“What did you order again, babe?” the woman running sandwiches called out in our direction.
The other guy began to answer.
“No,” she corrected him while indicating that she had meant me, “the other babe.”
“Lotta babes in here,” he said in a thick Brooklyn accent. We both laughed.
Several minutes later, he was the lucky one: His order was ready.
“Later, babe,” I said casually as he walked past me. He was facing the other way, but I could still hear him laugh.
“Later, babe!” he replied.
— Justin Hanagan
Call and Response
Dear Diary:
It was early evening on an unseasonably mild Friday night in February. I was walking quickly along Fifth Street toward Second Avenue and wondering whether we were getting the first taste of spring while trying not to trip on broken sections of the sidewalk.
I saw a man walking toward me. He was holding a phone to his ear. As he got closer, he held the phone away from his face.
“Marco!” he shouted.
He returned his phone to his ear and paused.
“Marco!” he shouted again.
This time, I heard a voice respond from behind me on the opposite side of the street.
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“Polo!” the voice said.
The man grinned as we passed each another
— Rachel Misner
https://www.nytimes.com/2023/05/21/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html
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