New York City Story
a tiny essay
Yesterday morning, in New York City’s West Village, I took an outside seat at a coffee shop. I was waiting for my longtime publishers to join me when a young woman walked up and asked, "Are you Emil?"
I said no and the relief on her face was so apparent that I realized she was on a dating app coffee meet-up. And she was so happy that she wasn’t on a coffee date with a chubby old guy who’d pretended to be younger and prettier on Bumble, Tinder, or OKCupid.
Immediately after the woman went inside the coffee shop to find Emil, I texted friends about the encounter and they texted back with a flurry of insults and jokes.
“She really dodged a bullet.”
“You’re not just a meal. You’re the whole buffet.”
“She has high standards. Let Emil know.”
“She wanted a snack instead of a full meal.”
“I bet Emil doesn’t write love poems.”
“In a movie, you two would’ve ended up together.”
“You’re my Emil.”
I love my friends.
And I did take comfort in the fact that I’m not one of those short dudes who lies about their height on dating apps and social media. You know those guys. They’re 5-8 but claim they’re 5-11.
I might be a chubby old guy but I am tall. And I do indeed write many love poems to my wife.
You never know what kind of adventures you’ll have in NYC.