I live on Avenue C with a bed directly under the window that looks out on the street. I realize fairly quickly that I need ear plugs if I hope to get any sleep. Wayne comes from Boston to spend a weekend with me. I observe an odd pattern with Wayne’s visits. I am left almost teary every time. I come to understand that it arises from the tension between a great trust and intimacy precariously balanced against the fear that I will offend and alienate him.
I live on 126th Street in Harlem, near the intersection of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King. Trucks coming across the Robert F Kennedy bridge favour 126th as they enter Manhattan in the pre-dawn hours. That combined with a particularly noisy manhole cover jolt me awake every morning. Someone in the shared washroom left me a note suggesting I try Rogaine.
Realizing I will never be able to sleep through his snoring I decide to create a makeshift bed in the bathroom. In doing so I have indeed offended and alienated him.