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The usual

The first time anyone asked me if I wanted the usual, it wasn't even mine. I was working for the poet James Schuyler & every day would go around the corner from the Chelsea Hotel where he lived to a diner on 8th Ave & get him a BLT. Nonetheless, I was excited to recognized as a regular.

The best time was one year when I was going to a lot of Yankees games by myself. I would take the train up & get a ticket for the Upper Deck, directly above homeplate. When I walked up to the window one afternoon, the guy asked, Do you want your usual seat? I was thrilled.

These days, "the usual" takes the form of running into the same people at around the same time. Some I know & we stop to chat. Some I don't know so we nod—yep, there's that guy who walks his dog, there's that lady who (I don't know how I'm ID'ed actually, probably just "there's that lady I recognize").
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