This is my coffee cart guy. Do you see him there? On the right, behind the white car? He’s a nice guy from Alexandria. He’s got seven brothers and one sister back home in Egypt. He misses them, but he always seems to be in a good mood.

Everyone who works in New York has their own coffee cart guy. It’s part of the fabric of the city. You establish a rapport with him and you don’t buy coffee anywhere else. Eventually, he’ll know your order and if he sees you approaching, he’ll greet you with it already in the bag.

My guy sets up right in front of the Starbucks on 41st and Broadway. I like his nerve! I’ve always identified with the underdog because that’s all I’ve ever been. I’m just regular. Plus, his coffee costs a small fraction of what I’d pay at Starbucks. Fuck Starbucks. I’m sticking with little guy. Especially in the winter when he’s out there in the cold.

Each morning we exchange the same banter. I make fun of his coffee and he makes fun of my clothes.

When are you going to start selling some decent coffee?

As soon as your wife buys you a new shirt. How many times are you going to wear that thing?!

We have a laugh, bid each other adieu and head off into our day, hoping it won’t be too wretched.

While he’s preparing my coffee, I’ll turn around and look in the window of Starbucks. All you see are the tops of people’s heads because their faces are buried in smart phones, frantically texting and ignoring the world around them. Times Square is just outside the front door to the right but they might as well be in Broken Bow, Nebraska for all it matters. Idiots.

Final score: Humanity: 1 Starbucks: nil

Mrs. Wife won a night in Brooklyn at a charity auction. Nope, that’s not a typo. We dumped the kiddies at the in-laws and stayed at the Brooklyn Marriott, which is a beautiful hotel in downtown Brooklyn. In addition to the hotel, we dined at The River Café. I sat across the table from Mrs. Wife and soaked in our solitude. We are usually flanked by a 3-year old and 7-year old who feel it necessary to fill in every quiet moment with dialogue.

The River Café is one of the most elegant restaurants in town (although it’s a bit of a tourist trap). I had to wear a jacket, which isn’t terribly comfortable in July. Fortunately, I clean-up quite nicely, if I do say so myself. It’s located at the base of the Brooklyn Bridge on the East River and overlooks the southern tip of Manhattan. There’s a panoramic view of the bridge (an architectural masterpiece) and off to the left is the Lady in the Harbor. I had a duck breast that melted in my mouth. Dinner for two with drinks and tip: $275.

I looked across the river at the big hole in the sky where the World Trade Center used to be. It dominated the skyline. A lot of architect snobs didn’t like the twin towers, but I did. They were the first thing I spotted when flying or driving home. They were my beacon. Now, the skyline looks a bit more pedestrian. I miss them.

We took an after dinner sunset walk on the Brooklyn Bridge. The Bridge has a beautiful promenade. Anyone who visits should make the effort to walk from Brooklyn to Manhattan. It’s something to see, that’s for sure.

As regular readers know, I love The Daughters. But it was nice to walk without them, hand in hand with my bride, in the city we use to own.

All the folks in Manhattan are sad
’cause they look at her and wish they had
The good old Brooklyn Bridge

For brunch I had baked eggs at Bocca Lupo, a swell little cafe in Cobble Hill. I didn’t know you could bake eggs but here they are. Were.

Early in the morning in Bryant Park behind the 42nd Street library, you can occasionally catch this chap playing his bagpipes.

He usually warms-up with a mournful rendition of Amazing Grace and then plays one or two other tunes. I think he works in a nearby office and likes to get in a few bars of practice before the grind begins.

If I see him when I approach the park, I quickly grab a cup of coffee and a chocolate cigar from a coffee cart guy and get a nearby table. It’s like dinner and a show except it’s breakfast.

New York City is chocked full of small, undiscovered pleasures.

They say there’s always magic in the air.

A closer inspection reveals that this is a residential building, which is an anomaly in this neighborhood. This area, just north of Grand Central Station, is populated with office buildings. Some of the apartments in this building have beautiful French doors that open onto spacious outdoor decks that wrap around the corners.

During my workday, I occasionally stop to watch a woman carry a baby outside, put him/her in a swing and tend the garden. Here, she feeds the baby breakfast.

This kid is growing up in rarefied air. People who are this wealthy, who can afford to live in such splendor in midtown Manhattan, usually have more than one home. This kid will never have to worry about how to pay for college. I never went to college because I was broke. I think most folks believe that a college education is their God-given right. Well, it isn’t.

This kid will never know want. That’s not to say he’ll be trouble-free. But he’ll never know the financial struggles most of us have to endure.

The café I’m posting this from just played the Annie Lennox cover of Bob Marley’s I Don’t Want to Wait in Vein. I’m generally not a fan of covers—the original is almost always better—but once in a while someone gets it right. The way she sings it, Annie sounds like she’s hurting for someone. I wish I could give her a hug right now.

I attended a meditation class last night in the city. The topic of last night’s talk was particularly meaningful to me. It gave me the fuel to deal with some sticky issues I’ve been having and when I left I was floating on hope and resolve. There was a warm June breeze so I decided to walk to Penn Station.

I popped my ear buds in and headed south on Park Avenue. My freakishly reliable iPod shuffle selected George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue off of the soundtrack to Woody Allen’s Manhattan. That song is New York personified. I turned west onto 34th Street and just as that first crescendo hit after the bluesy clarinet intro, I looked up and saw the Empire State Building.

The crown was bathed in blue light. I am embarrassed to admit that it gave me a tremendous lump in my throat. It was a perfect, harmonious moment. New York City is a magical place that will fuck with you every which way it can.

With Gershwin still playing in my head, I walked down 34th Street and saw:

A group of serious looking businessmen in expensive suits standing on the corner of 5th and 34th. They briskly shook each other’s hands and all walked off into the night in different directions.

The cross town M34 bus racing between Madison and 5th. I could see a couple in the back seat stealing a kiss.

Two tourists standing in the middle of the sidewalk (of course) in front of the Empire State Building carefully pouring over a map of Manhattan. They had big smiles on their faces.

A pretty girl approached from the opposite direction. We did that dance where you try and get out of each other’s way but nearly collide because you both step in the same direction. She smiled at me as we passed. Being smiled at by a pretty girl never gets old.

I bought an ice cream cone ($3) from her.

You don’t see that many girls in a Mister Softee truck. She was parked just off of Herald Square and was wearing a pair of really cool Batman earrings.

The program to close off portions of Broadway to vehicular traffic and create pedestrian malls has been so successful that Mayor Bloomberg decided to expand it for the summer. Here, the section of Broadway in front of Macy’s (The Worlds’ Biggest Store) is open for lounging.

All that from just a lousy walk to the train station. I love this goddamn town.