Metropolitan Diary
Quick Toss
Dear Diary:
It was May, and I was visiting my aunt in New York City. On a beautiful day, I went exploring. I had a new Minolta camera, and after settling onto the subway, I took it out to check out its features.
When I got to my stop, I left the train quickly. Once I was on the platform, I realized I had left the lens cap on the seat. I turned to try to retrieve it, but the car had filled with the people, and the doors were about to close.
Just before they did, the lens cap came flying over the heads of the passengers and onto the platform in front of me.
— Don Straube
Teresa
Dear Diary:
It was February 2013. With a foot of snow expected, I left work early and drove from New Jersey warily as my wipers squeaked and snow and ice stuck to my windows.
I drove east on the Cross Bronx Expressway, which was tied up worse than usual. Trucks groaned on either side of my rattling Toyota. My fingers were cold. My toes were colder. Got to get home before it really comes down, I thought to myself.
By the time I got home to my little red bungalow a stone’s throw from the Throgs Neck Bridge, the snow was already up to my ankles.
Inside, I took off my gloves, hat, scarf, coat, sweater, pants and snow boots. The bed, still unmade, was inviting me. But first, I checked my messages.
There was one from Teresa, the 92-year-old widow on the corner.
“Call me,” she said, sounding desperate.
I looked toward the warm bed, but … Teresa. There was a storm outside, and she was alone.
On went the pants, the sweater, the coat, the scarf, the boots and the gloves, and then I went out the door.
The snow was six inches deep on the sidewalks, so I tottered on tire tracks in the middle of the street. The wind stung my face. When I got to the end of the block, I pounded on her door.
“Teresa!” I called. No answer. “Teresa!” I called again. I heard the TV blaring. Was she sprawled on the floor?
I went next door and called for Kathy.
“Teresa can’t answer the door,” I said. “Probably fell.”
Kathy had a key. In the corner of her neat living room, Teresa, in pink sweatpants and sweaters, was sitting curled in her armchair, head bent down and The Daily News in her lap.
I snapped off the TV.
Startled, she looked up.
“Kathy! Neal!” she said. “What’s a five-letter word for cabbage?”
— Neal Haiduck
((NEIGHBORS!!))
Friendly Dog
Dear Diary:
I was walking near Sutton Place Park, and a man with a tail-wagging dog was walking nearby.
I love dogs and I wanted to pet this one, so I asked the man whether his dog was friendly.
“Yes,” he said, continuing on his way. “But I’m not.”
— Elizabeth Levine
https://www.nytimes.com/2025/09/14/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html
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