End of Strike

Yesterday, walk into city with Dave. Walk thoroughly pleasant. Stop for dumplings in Chinatown and shop for shoes, furniture, lighting fixtures, and apartments in soho. Manage, miraculously, to escape without having made any purchases. Sun shining. As parting with Dave, remind that school is providing bus at 5 p.m., which we will be able to take home to Brooklyn. Get to bus stop fifteen minutes early. at five bus hasn't arrived, but as there is lots of traffic, expect it any minute. Dave says, Are you Sure the bus is going to be here. Answer briskly, Don't be impatient. At five thirty we try to a cab to Brooklyn. One driver laughs and the other squeals off without a word. would be very angry, but can't feel legs. Kear self repeating inanely to Dave, That Must Be It, meaning any large vehicle approaching corner. At six we decide to go to the Cedar Tavern to get drinks and a Bite and to Try for the 7:30 bus. Can feel hot air coming out of register, but inside of body icy cold so leave all clothes on, including hat and scarf. Hands blue. When burger arrives, warm hands over meat. Dave calls me Boxcar Fritz which do not (at the time) find amusing. Say in what am ashamed to not is mournful tone, What Are We Going to Do? Dave takes matters into his own hands. We take taxi to base of Manhattan bridge. Get out of warm cab. Attempt to complain, but Dave says firmly We Aren't Goning to Do That. Am impressed with his firmness, but annoyed, so walk quickly, which warms self up, and gets us across bridge faster. When get home, feel as though have undergone transformative experience (though not sure how have transformed.) Like much else in life, today it is as if strike never happened.