Sat. a.m.

I pick up a copy of the Guardian at a newsstand and go to the Whole Foods cafeteria on Union Square. for coffee and scone. I approach a long table occupied by a man who, I notice, has that certain smell and a grocery-store cart full of bulky black garbage bags. I veer to the next table, occupied by a nicely dressed woman, and sit facing the homeless guy.

As I pull the Guardian out of my bag to begin my eat, drink, read routine, he calls across the tables:

- Is that the London Times?
- No, the Guardian.
- You like The Guardian? (I nod.) What do you like about it?
- The book reviews, and news from a different viewpoint.
- Why not the Times or the Telegraph?
- I’m not sure you can get them here.
- I go to the newsstands when they discard unsold papers and try to find the Times.

Meanwhile, the nicely-dressed woman at my table has started ranting to no one in particular (unless she has a hidden Blu-thing somewhere) about school textbooks.

So the smelly homeless man wants to talk about British newspapers and the proper lady rants away. A parallel universe, perhaps?