I saw a man with no hands smoking.
I saw him twice in fact.
In February, to enjoy a break between jobs, I went home to NYC.
He was walking down Fifth Avenue, just off 16th street close to my place. It was so cold and I was racing back from AU (pronounced OH!) BON PAIN - gotta love that name - to my apartment. I nearly crashed into to him because the pavement was very icy under the city-typical black slush. He wasn't wearing gloves or well ... mittens. He barely noticed me. Presumably smoking without hands requires great concentration.
He was the quintessential 'posterchild' for the Anti-Smoking Party or whatever they are called. The tagline would invariably go something like: "If you can relate to this man, it's REALLY time to stop."
Surprisingly, for me, I forgot to add this experience into my journal.
I returned in June for my summer break. As I was exiting the lobby of my building he was walking by. I was pleased to have a second chance to document this extraordinary sighting. The timing could not have been better. My schedule is random when I am in the city. Seeing him again in proximity to my place could mean that he works or lives nearby. And look, he is still a smoker!
My curiousity raced into high gear. I had to use all of my strength to suppress the urge to stop him. To ask what happened to his hands. And, of course, to discuss smoking. The agony and the ecstasy of our shared passtime.
I was heading in the opposite direction but first I pulled out my journal. To my delight I could recall the tagline for "his" poster.
As I walked in the afternoon heat toward Chelsea I wondered if I might try to find him. Maybe it's no big deal for him to speak about his predicament.
But my new vantage point about smoking is confirmed.
Even with hands I don't know if I will be able quit before it kills me, or it causes my hands to fall off.
When I return in September I might look for him. He may have the answers I desperately seek, or not.
In February, to enjoy a break between jobs, I went home to NYC.
He was walking down Fifth Avenue, just off 16th street close to my place. It was so cold and I was racing back from AU (pronounced OH!) BON PAIN - gotta love that name - to my apartment. I nearly crashed into to him because the pavement was very icy under the city-typical black slush. He wasn't wearing gloves or well ... mittens. He barely noticed me. Presumably smoking without hands requires great concentration.
He was the quintessential 'posterchild' for the Anti-Smoking Party or whatever they are called. The tagline would invariably go something like: "If you can relate to this man, it's REALLY time to stop."
Surprisingly, for me, I forgot to add this experience into my journal.
I returned in June for my summer break. As I was exiting the lobby of my building he was walking by. I was pleased to have a second chance to document this extraordinary sighting. The timing could not have been better. My schedule is random when I am in the city. Seeing him again in proximity to my place could mean that he works or lives nearby. And look, he is still a smoker!
My curiousity raced into high gear. I had to use all of my strength to suppress the urge to stop him. To ask what happened to his hands. And, of course, to discuss smoking. The agony and the ecstasy of our shared passtime.
I was heading in the opposite direction but first I pulled out my journal. To my delight I could recall the tagline for "his" poster.
As I walked in the afternoon heat toward Chelsea I wondered if I might try to find him. Maybe it's no big deal for him to speak about his predicament.
But my new vantage point about smoking is confirmed.
Even with hands I don't know if I will be able quit before it kills me, or it causes my hands to fall off.
When I return in September I might look for him. He may have the answers I desperately seek, or not.
posted by (00) at 3:56:00 PM
