Pastrami Sandwich

If a midtown pastrami sandwich could talk, boy would it talk. It would out-talk a Long Island farmers market pizza slice, no problem, and that’s saying something, my friend. That’s saying something. By the way, what do you think that is in Kojak’s pocket, a bagel? A slice of pie from the Automat? You like my fedora, right? I like it. No, I haven’t yet mentioned the hot dogs from the corner. So sue me. My lawyer is my uncle who lives near Columbus Circle. Very near. Did I tell you about the time I saw the hostage parade then took a cab up to Lincoln Center and saw Bernstein conduct Copland and then Copland stood up in his box and bowed and Lenny bowed back, it being Copland’s birthday? Appalachian Spring, baby. And Lenny leaned back on the rail and stopped conducting at that one point, Simple Gifts, goddamn, and just soaked it in like the rest of us. All true. And I had no idea, okay. I just went. Did I already mention it? Forgive me. I might have mentioned it. That he just stopped conducting and leaned back on the rail like he was in the very presence of something.

This piece appears in the Naugatuck River Review.