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Diary | Oct 05 2004

After Sunday’s reading (I read something new and something less so), we went out for Chinese food and told mugging stories. My favorite: The woman who was held over a “pit” for her Brownie dues. This seemed funny when she told it, but now I see it’s not. With enough distance, almost anything can seem funny.

Another woman described a scene in which a hooded man in a schoolyard stuck a gun in her face and demanded her money. “No!” she shouted, although all she had in her bag was ten dollars. Her reason for refusing: her diary was in her bag and the motherfucker wasn’t getting her diary.

The man turned and ran.

My contribution: I was talking on the payphone at Avenue D and 11th Street when someone tapped me on the shoulder. This was back in 1980, when Alphabet City had even more drug dealers than rats. I was straddling my bike, and in my pocket was over two hundred dollars from my fruit vending business. The money was arranged in a thick wad of bills, mostly ones and fives.

When I turned, two young guys, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, were standing before me. One held a baseball bat above his head.

“Give me your money,” said the one not holding the bat.

Without thinking (clearly!), I held up a single finger to indicate that I would be with them in a second.

Then I returned to my call. When I turned back, I said something like, “I live in this neighborhood. I don’t have any money. You guys need to go somewhere where people have money.”

I said this as though offering a helpful tip to a few first-time job seekers.

It seemed to work: the one guy let the bat drop to his shoulder. His partner, though, was a harder sell. He told me to hold out my hand.

“My hand?” I said. “Whatever.” Then I did as he asked.

He wanted to see if I was shaking. I probably was, but not enough to convince him to call my bluff. Both guys walked away.

Today I’d give them the money in a second, what the fuck was I thinking?