It's a Small World

“These were taken before you were born.” I hear a voice speak up from behind me. I think he probably saw my head turn slightly over my shoulder as I passed by, and said this hoping to keep my interest for just a moment longer so that I would slow my walking pace to a pause. It worked. So well that I stopped my beeline for the hot apple cider booth, for almost half an hour.

I love these booths; with their holiday lights strung neatly around each edge connecting one to the other, and their various knick-knacks that I typically find useless but at this moment find charming, the necklaces sold by the woman who made them and the gingerbread cookies sold by the friendliest Asian couple at the hot apple cider booth. There is something about this somewhat theatrical holiday fair that I absolutely adore. When I wander around the half moon shape every day I allow myself to get a little lost, in not just the booths, but the holiday cheer that sometimes disappears.


He is wearing a black fleece north face zipped all the way up to the top, and is shifting his weight from side to side, but considering the worn blue baseball hat on his head, harms hung loosely by his side and tanned face looking quite alive – it was hard to tell if he was hot or cold. But quickly stops my pondering, by interjecting: “This heater back here has me all confused- you too though, right? You think I’m freezing just stand back here, but I’m actually quite warm. The confusing part for me is that my ankles are on fire, but neck is cold.”

His face has a few brown spots that come with age, his crows feet are prominent and he has a few white hairs peeking out from the edges of his hat that match the color of his eyebrows perfectly; each feature conveys his age is well past fifty. He likes to point this fact out as well, by continually repeating the “before you were born” line and doing the math of how much more than three times my age he is my senior.
His name is John. Born and raised in New York City with no intentions of ever leaving. The table between us has piles of t-shirts propped up on display. Lining the walls of his temporary store are canvas and prints. His booth has a different feel than most of them around here; it is calmer and darker- but not in an unwelcoming way. Everything for sale is of gray tone and has a legitimate, not faux-vintage look.

“I took these myself long before you were born.” Again with the age joke. They are all photographs he took in the 70’s and 80’s. They are primarily images of inside the subway system. Various works of graffiti. Trash lined along the tracks. A girl with cornrows blowing her bubble gum. A mom holding her daughter’s collar, while pointing her finger at her son facing the other way. An old man sitting up against the tiled wall with a blanket, playing guitar. Three adolescent boys sitting on the bench in a row, the middle on spinning a basketball on top of his finger and the other two smiling down at the train’s floor. A toddler standing on his mother’s knees, wearing and ‘I heart NY’ onesie. He points at the teenager with the basketball.

This guy- right here, Daniel Bishop. Did I ever tell you I met this guy years later? His friend cam by this very booth a few years back. He recognized his friend in the picture and so we started talking. Turns out this guy still lives in Brooklyn and I told his friend I’d love to meet him- I mean considering I’m selling art with a picture of his face. So a few weeks later we met right here at Union Square and talked for while. Great kid- gave him a bunch of shirts.
Hold onto everything you have – wait twenty some years and some one your age will want them again. See who’s that guy- Gubli- Guliano- you know, the mayor or something - well he, he knew this. So I told him to clean this place up, and he did.