METROPOLITAN DIARY
Last edited Mon Oct 11, 2021, 03:44 PM - Edit history (1)
Invisible Voice
Dear Diary:
The Q to Brooklyn can be more crowded at midnight than midday: mothers with strollers; older women with shopping carts; girlfriends sharing earphones and mouthing lyrics. It all makes for a comforting sight at that late hour.
On this particular night, the car I was on was empty except for three men who were sitting evenly spaced out across from me.
As the train rattled across the Manhattan Bridge, I shut my eyes against the fluorescent lights, my thoughts tumbling down into the dark water of the East River below.
I heard what I thought was a woman singing softly. Startled, I looked up at the three men across from me: an older one who was closely studying a small book; a young punk leaning forward and swiping his phone; and a big construction worker cradling his helmet as he slept, his mouth slightly open.
I must have fallen asleep too, I thought to myself.
The train went back underground, and I let my eyelids fall. I heard the beautiful voice rise again, more confidently this time, and a few notes of what sounded like opera. I tried to figure out where it was coming from, but the melody came to a halt.
Just the same three men, in the same positions.
I got off the train at Seventh Avenue and the construction worker did too. As I walked up the stairs, he broke into full song behind me. We went in different directions, but I could hear his soaring falsetto as it bounced off the buildings and filled the night sky.
I could still hear it faintly when I locked my apartment door two blocks away.
— Michelle Fawcett
Rainy Ride
Dear Diary:
It was a very rainy and windy Tuesday afternoon, and I was walking along Fifth Avenue near Central Park. I was in a suit and tie and had my double bass and the remnants of a cheap umbrella.
I had just turned at 87th Street to walk through the park when a UPS truck pulled up, stopping traffic in the process.
“You want a ride?” the driver asked, and then opened the passenger-side door before I could muster an answer. “Get in.”
Cars were honking, the rain was still coming down and I had a 20-minute walk ahead me.
Why not?
I climbed in, sat down and balanced the bass between my body and the inner wall of the truck. The driver dropped me at the C train station. He was cracking jokes the whole way there.
— Noah Garabedian
Fish Store
Dear Diary:
It was some years ago and I was working in Midtown. One day, my wife called and asked me to stop at a fishmonger near the Port Authority Terminal on my way home and pick up some fish for dinner.
I walked into the place, where an older counterman greeted me and quickly filled my order. I asked him to add a fresh lemon.
“I have a deal with the greengrocer next door,” he said, looking up. “He doesn’t sell fish and I don’t sell fruit.”
— Howard Schwartz
https://www.nytimes.com/2021/10/10/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html
= new reply since forum marked as read
Just google "UPS dogs". 
Last edited Mon Oct 11, 2021, 06:01 PM - Edit history (1)
A local college was performing Handel's Messiah and they needed some adult voices to fill out their alto and bass section. So a group of us boarded a train (don't remember which) and we decided to practice the Hallelujah Chorus on our way there.
Our own little impromptu flash mob. 
