Emails Found on my Old Computer, Episode #2

11/30/01 2:33 a.m.

SUBJECT: holy fucking shit

you can pick up women at [local bar] the Far Side?

i can pick up women at the PATH station!

i went to “Max Fish” on Ludlow to celebrate the birthday of [freelancer] Jill, who botched a story for me and she’s so hot that i don’t care. she could [uncommon sexual act] my uncle and i’d still be sweet on her.

i was there two hours, didn’t know anyone but her, everybody was in early early 20s. i drank three beers and mostly didn’t talk. i did give her the “Jack & jill” book before i left.

i took a cab to christopher st. i’m a lazy fuck.

there are 20 minutes till the next train. i know this from years of research.

i stop in, what is it? Rivoli Pizza? No one asks can i help you, and there are no plain slices on display. i walk out and go to the path.

right after the turnstile, there’s a cute small woman on the service phone. women, they all want to know when the train is coming.

“They hung up on me!” she says.
I make semi-drunken humourous small talk with her.

She gets her answer. Eighteen minutes. We laugh. She walks away. i am sad. i don’t want to seem like i am following her.

She doesn’t go that far. And she speaks to me again.

We talk till the train comes.
She is a freelance photographer.
We talk on the train.
Her name is Danielle.
She lives on 5th st.
We talk as we walk.
She stops in [Korean grocery “Natural+ Plus”] Natch and buys Parliament cigarettes.
I go with her, unasked.

We walk to 5th and garden. or perhaps bloomfield. she pauses. “i live up here. it was nice talking with you.”

“well, i, er, it was nice talking with you. i would really like talking with you again.”

“if it wasn’t so late,” she says, at, i dunno, 1:05 a.m., I’d ask you out for a drink. you probably have to work in the morning.”

“i would love to have a drink with you,” i say.

we go to o’nieals.

we have a beer. i pay.
we talk.
last call!
we leave.
we walk to 5th and park.
“i’m going this way, you’re going that way,” she says.
“i’d really like to talk with you even more,” i says.
“me too,” i think she says.
“well,” i suggest, “i could give you my information.”
she accepts. i’m thinking, i’m a fucking moron for not getting the digits.
i get the digits, the ball is in my court. instead, i GIVE the digits. and the e-mail. and the other e-mail. i write on the back of my card about [holiday book sale I am participating in] Sunday at Shannon Lounge.

“But,” i say, ” the important stuff is on the other side. I really really want you to call me.”

We shook hands twice, maybe three times. Then she initiated a little peck on the cheek.

I’m walking on sunshine! i clicked my fucking heels between willow and clinton.

jesus i hope she calls/writes/comes by Shannon Lounge.

She is small with [mousy mutual friend]-ish hair. She’s cute but kind of plain. She was wearing a knit cap till we got to Onieals.

wow, i met a woman.

[Bonus second email.]

12/9/01

SUBJECT: an odd request.

Dear James Porto:

You don’t know me from a hole in the ground, and I’m sorry to bother you. But last week, I met a young woman who has worked with you–Danielle from Hoboken–and this is the only way I know how to contact her.

Short story short: We met, we talked quite a bit, and I gave her my number and e-mail. In my stupidity, however, I did not get her information. And I haven’t heard from her.

If she decided she doesn’t want to see me, i respect that. These things happen. But if there is any other reason–nervousness, misunderstanding of who would call who, business card in the laundry, etc.–then I would really like to contact her. I guess I like her.

I can be reached at:
[email]
[phone]

If you could pass this along, I’d really appreciate it.

Thanks,
Jack Silbert

P.S. Your photographs are amazing!!

[I never heard from James Porto, or Danielle. Eventually I stopped walking down her block.]