A couple of weekends ago, we ventured up to 113th street and Broadway for a graduation party. It was a nice part of town with sections of Columbia University wedged between brownstones and buildings. We climbed the stairs out of the subway and started walking down the sidewalk when we suddenly heard… “Get down! Everybody, GET DOWN!”
People dropped to the ground. They fled down the street. We stood, stricken with fear and confusion. I thought, is this it for Itty Bitty? Would her end really be in an old school quintessential New York way?
Ben flinched. Our girlfriend froze. I was nervous, yet slightly intrigued.
Suddenly, unmarked police vehicles squealed to a halt at the corner. Plain-clothes police officers jumped out and tackled a guy. Then they drug him a little ways down the street. Roughed him up, perhaps? I wasn’t close enough to see.
But, apparently, a lady with a first row seat did. She told us that the man tried to rob a stock boy from the corner bodega as he wheeled his cart of merchandise into the store. Miraculously, the police appeared (seemingly out of nowhere) and captured the bad guy, making our city safe again. Hip, hip hooray! Hip, hip hooray!
We continued to walk to the party pretty unfazed by the experience, which once again proved that our minds had slowly shifted to the New York mindset of Whatever, I’ve got places to be and people to see. It’s New York City, baby. My girlfriend said frankly, “If my dad was here to see that, he would have me on a plane back home right now.”
I totally agreed.
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