I lived in two different places while in New York City. The first place was an apartment in Hell's Kitchen. (For those of you familiar with the area, I lived on 49th between 10th and 11th - one block West of 'nice' Hell's Kitchen.) I lived in a pantry-sized apartment next door to a halfway house. The rats were as big as shitzus. My shower was in my kitchen - literally. When I closed the door to the bathroom, (read: closet with toilet), it touched my knees... and I'm not that big of a man. But the bright side to all of that was that I got the place for the totally reasonable price of $1200/mo.

Then I moved to Astoria. Ahhhh... trees, sky, not having to touch everyone else on the sidewalk with me. Sure, it was run by the Greek mafia, but it was run well. Very safe neighborhood! (So long as you were Greek or white.) The Manhattan snobs would say, "I could never leave the island. I can't deal with the commute." Now, when they say commute, they mean, "I can't handle someone driving me 20 minutes to work." Cachinnatees, I moved there from Dallas. Dallas. I drove an hour each way to and from work every day. Twenty minutes of reading and listening to music while someone else drives is not a commute. So I loved Astoria.

I got off at the last stop on the W at Ditmars Blvd. It was a 20 minute ride to Times Square, a 30 minute ride to Union Square, and 45 minutes to the financial district. It was convenient for auditions, and when I had to travel to Brooklyn or the Bronx for work, it was still better than driving in Dallas.

So one day, my good friend Jeremy Johnson is visiting me. We decide to hop on the subway and go down to NYU to visit a mutual friend. On the W and away we go! We sit down and begin to chat. You always get a seat when you're the first stop, but being a gentleman, I never kept mine more than a few stops because when the train would fill up, ladies would need a seat. A few stops later, an attractive young blind woman gets on the train with her seeing eye dog, a black lab. She sits down next to me; Johnson and I continue our conversation.

I then headed down a dark dark path. I spent most of my time in NYC fighting my Southern roots. True, I was raised all over the world, but I have a decidedly Southern mama and a father raised culturally as an Arab. These are both warm hospitable people. When I saw a young lady crying in Central Park, it didn't occur to me until after she treated me like a psycho that New Yorkers don't want to exchange pleasantries with strangers.

So anyway, I turn to the attractive young blind girl, whom we shall call Helen for simplicity's sake, and say, "That's a good looking dog you have there."

She gives a weak smile as she's reaching into her bag for her books. I can't take a hint, so I say, "What's his name?"

"Millennium."

"Millennium? That's a great name." The dog looks at me when I say its name. She goes about her reading, (Brail, people, brail), and I continue my conversation with Johnson as I begin to get the feeling that she'd just as soon not converse with a stranger on the subway. Not long thereafter, the train crowds up and I give up my seat to a lady. Johnson, the jerk, stays seated. So I'm facing the seats standing in front of the new lady with Helen seated on my left and Johnson on my right.

At this point the train ride begins to get fairly rough. I don't know why, but on that day there were some jerky starts and stops and some rough bumps. We continue and are approaching Times Square when there's a very sudden and sharp bump. The dog jumps and I instinctively say, "It's okay, Millennium." Hearing his name in combination with the bump, Millennium starts to jump up. Helen scrambles to grab his leash which was across her lap under her books. The books get dumped in front of her, but she finally grabs the leash. Meanwhile, I'm saying, "No, no! It's okay! Good boy, it's okay!" She sits him back down and gathers her books. I look at her and say, "I'm so sorry; I was just trying to help." She sighs, and I kid you not, she rolls her eyes at me before adjusting her sunglasses which had slipped in the hubbub.

Johnson, not helpful, is gripped with silent laughter. I try to reassume a semi-normal train ride and have our conversation. But I can't help notice that ever since I said his name, Millennium keeps looking at me. We finally arrive at Union Square and prepare to get off, when who should I see packing her belongings to get out as well? I mean come on, there are 43 stops on this line and Helen is getting off at the same one as us. I try to hurry Johnson out to get away from them, but Millennium is following us! We get to the turnstiles and I stop in one a few away from Helen. I hoped to lose them, but Millennium started going through and then tried to turn around to find me. Helen gets all tangled in the turnstile and drops her bag. I grab Johnson and we bolt up the stairs.

Johnson missed the last part, so I'm explaining as we walk down the street. Just when I get to the part where I say, "... nearly assaulted a blind girl!" guess who walks right by us. Thaaaaaat's right.

It was not one of my better moments.