Day One: Part One - The Last Bum in Brooklyn

Whenever you leave an apartment, let alone a major metropolis, you're bound to have a whole frigate's worth of junk you don't need to bring with you. The pile compounds when trans-national travel and costly shipping expenses get involved. Where does that junk heap go? To Salvation Army! Let other people sort through my crap!

The best part about giving away the stuff you were about to toss into the garbage is the altruistic buzz you get. It's a sense of self-worth, nobility, I-done-good-ness.

Just hours before I was set to fly away, one lucky drunkard was able to capitalize on my Good Citizen High.

HIM
Excuse me, excuse me. Sir. I'm sorry to have to do this, but... I need you to call 911. I've had too much to drink.

ME
911? Are you sure? You don't want me to call you a cab?

HIM
No. I need 911.

ME
Okay!

Let me tell you, it's a damn awkward situation to describe a man to 911 while the man is beside you. He was 50, mustachioed, with nose swollen and stitches on his brow, and his name was Dino. Ah, Dino. He kept heckling me to tell them that he was well dressed.

ME
He wants me to stress that he is well dressed.

DINO
What, you don't think I am? Look at these pants! Look at that crease!

The woman on the other end asked that I watch over Drunken Little Dino, make sure he didn't run out into traffic or some bullshit. Still riding that goodly high, I couldn't say no to 911 Lady.

During the wait, I learned that Dino was an engineer (CHIEF engineer!). I learned that he graduated from Cooper Union. I learned that Dino had a 25 year old son when he threatened to kill me.

DINO
I have a gun. ... I don't want to kill you. You remind me of my son. But I have to.

Tears streamed down his face. After I convinced Dino not to kill me, he resolved the matter by giving me a fist pound with his swollen, pudgy hands. I couldn't hold it against him, though. After all, as he claimed, he was a member of the Corleone family. They pretty much gotta kill people, right?

The EMT later called me crazy for sticking around after Dino cried "gun." Crazy? Anything but. I was doing my civic duty! According to the EMT, this was actually a recurring event for Dino. Every few months, Dino's wife would kick him out of the house, presumably for being a drunk. It was comedy hour with my colorful lush and his empty bottle until that sad note. Poor guy. I hope he was able to straighten up after that. The Corleone family depends on him.


ADDENDUM: The only way to successfully follow that up was by having the best burger I'd ever had in New York. It took me four years to find it, and only on the day I was leaving. The guy at the grill, John, was a simple dude. He was a salt-of-the-earth kinda guy. He liked yelling out answers to Family Feud. He also made burgers and made 'em damn well.