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He was really old, and he moved as if in slow motion to the park bench next to mine, close enough to nod a greeting to me when he planted his tired body down. Our respective benches faced one of the more popular walking trails on the edge of Central Park. The street noise was loud and full of the energy of the City. It was a bright and warm day in early May in 1978. The sky was crystalline and the air smelled new and sweet. The trees were bursting with the growth of new leaves and everything looked green and fresh, a contrast to the dark and decaying neighborhood where I rented an apartment. I was a student at University, and I had just purchased on a whim a book of poetry titled, “The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills”, by an author I’d never heard of named Bukowski. He’d go on to be a cult hero among disaffected college students and wanna be poets. I was hungry Escort Göztepe for experience in those days, and filled with the burning desire to learn the ways of love. My aged companion had brought a bag of bread crumbs for the pigeons that he distributed to the cooing horde with admonitions to share with each other, which the greedy birds ignored. As the morning progressed, he emptied out his bag and the nasty grey beggars lost interest in him, while I would read a poem and watch the lady joggers bounce by. I was shy and young then and not so bold with my gazing at the girls, yet nevertheless I drew not only smirks, but some half-smiles too. She came down the path like the advancing edge of a storm, dressed in a loud, mismatched checkered skirt and jacket, topped by a multi-colored scarf that held her graying hair in place. She was Caddebostan escort wearing dirty tennis shoes. I immediately identified her as a bona fide character that one found in the City a lot in those days. As she approached, he rose to meet her, a gentleman’s gesture, and it was apparent they were each one half of an ancient union, with the easy familiarity that decades of living together instills. My book of Bukowski rants was reduced to being a simple prop, behind which I hid as I observed this slice of marital life unfold before me. She started talking before she was even seated, with a theatrical boom and swell to her voice that seemed To echo off the trees and sidewalks of Central Park. She had a truly thick New Yorker accent, her lineage was possibly middle European, I guessed, but there was no doubt English was her second Bağdat Caddesi escort bayan language. He took her hand and assisted her in sitting next to him, while she intoned uninterrupted on the dirtiness of the subway, the perverts who inhabited their neighborhood, the gossiping neighbors, the gossiping relatives, the intransigence of their rabbi, the injustices of the modern world and the frustrations of old age. A particularly striking redhead jounced past me, and I only caught a side view out of the corner of my eye, but her rear view was breathtaking as she bounced away from me. I had been so intent on the rat a tat tat of the discourse my friend’s wife was unleashing that my girl watching had suffered, but the old lady mesmerized me. She was holding forth as if somehow a cork had been removed from a bottle of her opinions, and she felt an urgency to pour it all forth at once. She was drenching the old man with it. Minutes went by and she had not yet taken a breath that I could tell. She must have been theatrically trained, her stamina of breath and the way her voice projected through the park reminded me of someone giving a performance. I caught his eyes looking at me.