Every weekday, with only one fail, as I step off the subway and turn the corner onto 8th Avenue, I’ve seen the same man. He sits in varying grey suits, enclosed behind a glass wall inside the corner Starbucks. Every day it is the same: grey suit, sunglasses set brow and bridge down on the black, peppered bar with a closed notebook, and no coffee. He stares out the window, too, taking in all the passersby and I wonder if he sees me, if every day too he notices that I, at the same time, without fail, round his glass enclosed corner.
This grey suited man is slender in build, perhaps in his late 50s, bald like an Observer on Fringe, which makes me think, what if he’s “one of them.” What if this man is from the future and as a part of an anthropological study he has come to observe something on this particular street corner in Chelsea, across from the Google building and mere blocks away from the High Line.
The day he wasn’t there, the day I rounded the corner wondering if perhaps I’d get recognition from his distant staring eyes at last, I felt saddened at the void in the corner behind the glass. No pair of upturned sunglasses, no notebook, no lack of coffee despite it being a Starbucks, and no grey suited man. It’s weird, isn’t it, how one can feel sadness for something they never knew or had.
Anyways, now, every day, I look forward to seeing him; a nice little constant on my way to the office.