Being a regular

It feels nice to be a regular somewhere - to be recognised and greeted and welcomed like one of the family. That's how I feel about my jogging route. There's the woman with the poodle, and the man with the two german shepherds, and the man with the Siberian husky. I feel a sense of kinship with them, although I rarely even as much as make eye contact. I wonder if they recognise me too, I think surely they must.

And then there's the porter to the building on 116th and Riverside Drive. He marks the point at which I stop walking to where I want to jog, and actually start doing the jogging. He always gives me a friendly wave as I pass by, and I return the greeting with a smile and a nod. Its a fixed routine and we both take comfort from it. But I haven't seen him this pass week. I've looked out for him everytime I passed the building, but he hasn't been there.

The other day, JC (as he wants to be called) read in the papers about a porter of an upper west side building on Riverside who saved enough money over the years that he could buy an apartment in the building itself.

I wonder if it was my man. I hope it was my man.