One of the Little Things
Coming up from the train at Times Square, the stairway that leads to the street begins with three steps up to a landing that is completely submerged by the torrent above. Stepping over it, I ascend the narrow stairway to Broadway.
It’s raining and I’d rather not get wet. I check to see that no one is coming down the stairs and I open my umbrella before I hit the open air.
An older, moustachioed Hispanic man begins coming down the stairs and I extend my arm upward, lifting my umbrella as high as I can so he can walk down the stairs and pass me without any obstruction.
He clears beneath my umbrella with ease. He smiles at me and says: “Thank you, my friend.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, and I come above ground feeling good for once.