The Big Apple

I finally decide to move to New York.  A lot of my friends are heading there and there are a few reasons why it just makes sense.  So after a family reunion in Chicago, my sister and I hop a plane and arrive one afternoon, me with all my worldly possessions, having only visited there once, and my sister, younger, never having been there.  I realize I have no idea where my friends are living so I call the one telephone number I have.  No answer.

My sister and I get in a cab and I simply tell the driver "East Village."  I feel like an immigrant from the Old Country, arriving in the New World with nothing but a suitcase.  I have just one address in New York.  It's for the guy who isn't answering his phone.

When the taxi pulls over to the building, we load all my stuff onto the sidewalk.  I buzz the apartment.  No answer.

So we sit on the stairs.

Within two minutes my friend Gabrielle comes walking up the street and sees us.  "Hey!  What are you doing here?"  "I just moved here," I say.

Two minutes later my other friend Kate comes wandering from the other direction.  "Hey!  What's up?"  "I just moved here," I say.

Sometimes it's best not to dwell on minor issues such as what might have happened if this gnarly coincidence hadn't transpired.

Because it did.