The Daily Vonnegut Sightings (True Story)

I worked near the intersection of 49th street and 3rd avenue in Manhattan. I kept odd hours, often venturing out for a late lunch, and leaving work late. The hot dog vendor on the northeast corner of 49th and 3rd was quite popular. I often got two cold sodas from him, and I'd sit on the benches on the east side of 3rd avenue, and enjoy my soda and the sunshine.

One time I noticed a lanky, scruffy looking man. His clothes were haphazardly placed on his thin frame, and he had the appearance and demeanor of a clean vagrant. I immediately recognized him and told all of my colleagues: "Wow! I just saw Kurt Vonnegut! He's sitting right there!" I exclaimed, sounding like a child on my birthday, but not caring in the least. I pointed out of the window in his direction.

"Yeah, I see him a lot. He lives right around the corner." Bill said.

"Have you ever said hi to him?" I asked.

"Um...no." he said. I understood why. I wanted to say hi, even possibly buy Kurt Vonnegut a drink and sit with him for a while. Every day I saw him, I tried to muster the courage, but could not.

One early spring afternoon, I saw him sitting on the same benches where I occasionally sit. As I tried to work up my courage to approach him, I saw him staring intently at the man next to him. This man was uncomfortably dressed in a suit, looking as if he should unbutton the top button and loosen his tie. His neck bulged slightly over this collar, and he sat stiffly, facing 3rd avenue.

Kurt turned in this spot to face this man, and gave him an inquisitive, never-ending stare, as if he was also trying to figure out why this man would not unbutton the top button of his shirt and loosen his tie. The man caught Kurt staring, and ignored him. After another minute the staring continued, and he glanced uncomfortably at Kurt, who did not waver. After another three minutes, the man looked flustered, got up quickly and left. He apparently did not recognize the famous author, whose appearance and demeanor could cause one's hackles to go up if a person does not recognize this famous author.

Kurt suddenly looked bored and disappointed, like a cat who had lost it's mouse and does not know what to do next. He idly sat on the bench, and I laughed at the entire exchange from a safe distance away. "Now's my chance to say hi" I thought, but quickly pushed the thought out of my head. "What if one of my favorite authors toys with me in similar ways? What is he tells me to go fuck myself?" I thought, as I felt the courage drain from my body.

I never said hi. I never invited him for a drink. I saw him all around the area, at the local smoke shop, sitting on his stoop and staring down at his bare feet. I know he probably recognized me, after all of this staring at him. He would simply look at me and say nothing. The first move had to be mine, and I was too terrified. So we passed each other, staring at each other, saying nothing, day after day, week after week.

One morning as I headed toward my job, I saw flowers on his stoop. I walked down to the smoke shop on 2nd avenue and saw a Kurt Vonnegut memorial photo and sign hanging in the window. "Damn" I thought, as I headed up to my office, and read of his death online.

"Too late to ever say hi" I told Bill.

"Yeah, well his latest books were not that great anyway" he mocked.

"Not true, Timequake rocked" I protested, a bit offended, overreacting in favor of one of my favorite authors.

I stepped out of the office, went to the local bodega selling flowers, and bought a bunch. I left my tiny contribution on his stoop along with the others, wondering if he would hate flowers, and call all of us fools for memorializing him in this way.