My Public Face

I left work a litte early today; I had to make a very important phone call. I was walking down 37th, thinking about my day, about my evening -- nothing especially salient.

I was passing the church when I felt myself getting the full-body eye grope, the kind where you feel just a little dirty for being in someone's creepy sight line. He was a large man wearing a velour jumpsuit standing in front of a Catholic church. He had a moustache. Yeah, that guy.

"Whatchu lookin' so depressed fow-uh? Its sucha gawjus day!"

I flashed him a quick, tight smile and hastened on my way. In my wake, I heard, "Ey! That's bettuh."

Do I look so miserable walking down the street that complete strangers feel the need to comment on it? It happened when I was in college, too, as I walked across Washington Square.

I feel like I have a neutral public face, but apparently the look is funereal. Screw it -- for all people know, I was at a funeral.

I've been back from the Bahamas less than a week, and already this city is getting under my skin again. Maybe it's time for a change of scene.