Tag: subway

Pomegranate — Book 3

Marc got off the R line and was back in Forest Hills after a typical workday. Nothing unusual happened. Everything was chill. He strolled down 108 Street towards his apartment.

He saw all the usual folks along the way — The elderly with their aides taking them to the store, kids on their bikes and the religious folks with their noses deep in a prayer book as they walked down the block. It was amazing they could walk without tripping or walking into a tree. Perhaps a greater power was watching over them?

He strolled past his block and went to a few stores and started walking home.

Nothing unusual was going on. A light rain started. It didn’t bother Marc at all. He strolled along 108 Street. He passed a few of the shuls and went toward his apartment building. He walked in. Made chit chat with the doorman about his beloved Yankees. He checked the mailbox. As usual, he got nothing in the mail.

He was about the turn the oven and bake chicken when his phone rang. It was a friend he hadn’t heard from in a while. He always liked her. Years ago, they date. She said she was thinking about him and was wondering if they could meet in Long Island City for a beer. He grabbed his coat and raced to E train.

The train actually got him there quickly. He went to Citibank to get some cash and walked over to the bar. On his way, he heard some loud noises and saw some smoke. So he detoured a block or two to see what was going on. He saw a bunch of teens lighting M-80s and setting things on fire in the park near MOMA PS 1. Some parents were screaming at them. Their young children were getting scared.

Marc just wanted to see Jen. He always liked her. He dated many Jens in his life. They were always pretty, sweet, and a bit off the wall. Just what he lived for. But he knew he had to take care of things. He picked up his pace toward the park.

Quickly his eyes scanned the terrain. He noted there were four kids wreaking havoc. Two little boys were crying. Their moms were trying to calm them down. It seems the mischief-maker’s wares landed near the kids who were having fun on the slidin pond. They fell off and scraped their knees.

As Marc approached them a quarter stick of dynamite glazed his right arm. He began to convulse. People thought he was going to pass out. It didn’t look good. A lady came over to him to see if he needed help. As she approached him he began to shoot barley out of his eyes. The obnoxious teens started to laugh and taunt him. They quickly shut their mouths when the barley was making its way down their throats. They started gasping for air and choking.   Marc backed up. He took a look around. People were staring at him. He knew he had to go. He took a look at the kids. They were still choking but coming around. As they got back on their feet he pomegranates flew out of his fingers. The kids were down for the count.

Marc checked his phone. He had about 10 minutes to get over to the bar and see Jen. Boy did he need a beer. He texted her and said he’s on his way. He started walking over there. Little did he know another woman was following him.

Pomegranate Man-Book 1

Marc woke up and said Modeh Ani, the wake up prayer. He slurped down a glass of Tropicana while wolfing down a bowl of Frosted Flakes. He put on a grey dress shirt, black pants and sneakers. He’d change into his dress clothes when he got to work.

He grabbed his bag containing his teffilin, talit and siddur and exited his apartment. He opened his shul and put on his religious materials and began to pray while awaiting a minyan.

Slowly folks strolled in. Prayers were said. People left.

Marc took off his kippah and went to the train. Marc is a good Jew. He doesn’t classify himself. He certainly isn’t a Chasidic or Ultra-Orthodox. But an observant person. Many people don’t even recognize him as a Jew. He looks like your typical New Yorker. Half the time he’s wearing his Yankee hat and t-shirt. The other times he’s in his usual Lacoste shirt and Gap jeans or dress pants.

He hopped on the train and went to Midtown to his office. He exited the M train and began to walk down Avenue of the Americas. The usual breakfast carts were bustling with customers. New Yorkers moved in their hurried way to them and raced to their offices.

Marc bumped into a friend on the way to his office. They chatted momentarily. “Hey, Marc Russo, what’s up my bud?”

“Nothing, Jimmy, you?”

“Marc I was invited for Pesach dinner at a friend’s house? What kind of wine do I need to bring?”

“Just make sure it is Kosher for Passover. To be safe get a bottle that is also mevushal. I doubt the people that invited you are ultra observant. I’m willing to bet they don’t know what mevushal means. But go that way to be safe. Bear in mind, we have so many dietary rules, we don’t even understand them all. Someone at the Seder might,” chuckled Marc. They fist bumped and went to their offices.

Marc’s friends ranged from Chasidic to secular Jews and people other faiths. He is always happy to explain customs to his friends. He’s a firm believer that understanding each other will promote a healthier lifestyle. Most goyim know of Chanukah, Rosh Hashanah and Pesach. But the reality is they really don’t understand the customs and meaning behind the holidays. Or Yom Tovs as Marc and his fellow Yids would say.

He got to his desk and tried to login. Of course, the network was down. That’s the routine in his office. He checked in with his IT buddy. He was told they expect to get things going in about 20 minutes. He waltzed over to the kitchen for a glass of water and grabbed an orange. from the fruit tray.

He did a little work. He put on his Yankees jacket and decided to jump on the train to get a haircut at lunchtime. The people he works for are clueless. He was sad when he saw the number of homeless on the train’s platform. And really disgusted when he saw a rat on the tracks. They usually come out in the evening. But the city so overrun that they come out anytime. Two late aged male teens started harassing a homeless man.

They started taunting him and laughing at him.

“Why don’t you kids shut up. If you only understood my situation maybe you’d have some sympathy,” blurted out the homeless man, who was about 30, frail with blonde hair.

The kids just teased him and said he’s probably a junkie.

“No, I’ve never touched drugs. A beer or a shot of Vodka once in a while, but I’ve done nothing else. My brother and uncle sexually abused me. When I spoke up about it, I was beaten and thrown out of the house. I’ve lived here and there all of my life.”

The teen huddled and one yelled out, “Great story sounds like a load of BS.” Then they opened a Coke and poured it all over him.

Marc was pissed. He hated the way these obnoxious have it all, never worked for anything kids acted. They were walking around with $1,000 iPhones and the latest in everything else.

“Why don’t you guys leave this poor soul alone and jump on the approaching train,” Marc bellowed out to the kids. “Shut up you dumb Yankee fan. Boston rules.”

Marc decided not for to get too crazy walked down the platform. He was surprised he even opened his mouth that much. He normally was not confrontational. He thought he was done with the chaos when a Coke bottle hit him in the head. He turned around and saw the belligerent kids approaching him.

“I’d get walk back to the other side of the platform if I were you guys. Or better yet, exit the station and forget about your little episode,”

“Why Yankee what are you going to do? There are two of us and we are bigger than you.”

“And stupider,” chuckled Marc.

The teens ran toward him. He moved away and they fell on fell on their butts. But were up quickly and readied themselves to throw punches at Marc. The taller kid tossed a punch. Marc blocked the punch. The other kid tried to kick Marc in the stomach.

Marc laughed harder. The two kids started screaming. A small crowd gathered. Someone dialed 911. But lost the connection on their iPhone. The crowd continued to gather. But no one approached any of the three. They were a captive audience. All had their phones out ready to shoot away. It says little about our society. That people would rather snap photos of criminals than trying to help the victim. But Marc was no victim.

The kids lunged at him. All of a sudden Marc tensed up, his muscle toned arms got bigger. His head started to shake. His huge legs stomped down on the platform. He quickly reached his enlarged left hand into the pockets of his jeans.  In his hands was bright red oversized pomegranate. He held it up to the sky. Then he let it loose with the precision of a game closer waiting for the third out in the World Series. While airborne it split in half and nailed each kid in the knees. The kids fell down. One started to cry. He reached back into his pocket. As he reached in he heard the kids beg for mercy. Another pomegrante magically appeared. He wound up and let it loose. It nailed the first kid in the face and ricocheted off and smacked the one in the arm.

“Now boys, I think you’ve learned your lesson. Let this be a warning if you ever harass anyone, I will unleash the other weapons in my arsenal. I don’t want to get into fights. But I won’t stand for troubled people getting hurt.”

The kids nodded in acceptance. The R-train pulled in and those on the platform shoved their way on.