I was on line waiting to order. I heard one of the 2 young women (pretty sure they were sisters) in front of me ask, What is pumpernickel? The guy taking the order, with the posture of genuinely having all the time & patience in the world, asked if they knew what rye was & went on to explain. I didn't hear more. When it was my turn, I asked, Where are they from that they don't know what pumpernickel is? London, he said. OK, I guess that makes sense; I probably didn't know what it was myself. Pumpernickel's my favorite, he said. Is that what they ordered? No, he said, french toast. I made the New York purist's face. No, he said, it's pretty good. He dropped his voice. I'll put one in your bag for you to try - no charge, because you're nice. It is pretty good but I don't think I'd ever order it. Now I'm craving pumpernickel & slightly regretting my usual everything.
Then I ran into Jimmy Fragosa, who has kept up St Marks Church for as long as I remember, & we talked as we always do about the Yankees, & I asked him to put in a good word for the Twins, but he wasn't having any of it. I met his friend Raoul, & thought about how great both summer & the East Village are for chatting on the street.