2 November 2007...12:30 am

I Hate To Wake You Up To Say Goodbye

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I rode over the Manhattan Bridge tonight; as I was rounding the final bend I saw several flailing arms sliding out of view behind the concrete barrier separating me from Canal Street. I idly supposed a handicapped accessible sign had gone missing.

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Young Max and Emma make way for ducklings.

Instead, what I learned when I turned onto the street was that grown-ups like wheely chairs, too. The same human impulse that Hannah and I could not quell while Granny and Grandaddy tried to watch the NewsHour is alive and well, it’s just moved pretty far downtown, where three men in fleece jackets have discovered a backless wheely chair, and are taking turns pushing each other down a ramp into Canal Street.

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Young Max makes Emma a penguin full of things she likes: Painting. Green shoes. Also fireworks that are green and someone named Stewart.

Kevin wrote about that corner once, the morning after he decided not to stay in New York:

I ended up taking a Chinatown bus from 127 Madison Street, which turned out to be no building at all, but instead just a section of sidewalk underneath the Manhattan Bridge where a number of Chinese immigrants had gathered. Unclear why they were going to Buffalo. I was the first non-Chinese person there, but several others showed up, saw the tall white guy standing there, and came over to ask me where to go to buy a ticket, and whether it was like, a short bus or a big bus, and would we have to fight to get a seat? I told them to learn some fucking Chinese already.

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