Everyone has their own way of commemorating events.
Yesterday I bought a lamb gyro for lunch from the cart guy on 45th off of 3rd. He’s Egyptian. He asked me if I wanted hot sauce and I said, no, can’t take the heartburn anymore. He nodded sagely and said, “Like me. We are too old.” He gave me extra white sauce to compensate. I laughed. He laughed. I walked back to the office with my gyro, looking at the robin’s-egg blue sky—same as it was five years ago–loving New York and feeling hopeful.
Waiting for the light to turn, I watched a panhandler work the passing crowd. “Spare change? Spare change? How about a fucking penny? Can’t any of you motherfuckers spare a fucking penny?”
Now that’s copywriting with attitude, I thought. And, this being New York, it was working.