Tom do now?"

"Works at the flower shop, right down there at the corner."

Ben feels around in his pockets a minute. "Hey, I got two bucks I was
supposed to spend on a textbook. Come on and I'll buy Mom a plant for the
holidays, and you can introduce me to Tom."

We go down to the flower shop, and at first Tom frowns because he thinks
we've just come to kid around. Ben tells him he wants a plant, so then he
makes a big thing out of showing him all the plants, from the ten-dollar
ones on down, so Mr. Palumbo will see he's doing a good job. Ben finally
settles on a funny-looking cactus that Tom says is going to bloom pretty
soon.

Ben goes along home and I arrange to pick him up on Monday. I wait around
outside until I see Tom go out on a delivery and ask him how he likes the
job. He says he doesn't really know yet, but at least the guy is decent to
work for, not like the filling-station man.

* * * * *

I sleep late Monday and go over to Peter Cooper about eleven. A lot of
kids are out in the playgrounds, and some fathers are there tossing
footballs with them and shouting "Happy New Year" to each other. It sounds
odd to hear people saying that on a warm day in September.

Ben and I wander out of the project and he says, "How do we get to this
Fulton Street?"

I see a bus that says "Avenue C" on it stopping on Twenty-third Street.
Avenue C is way east, and so is Fulton Street, so I figure it'll probably
work out. We get on. The bus rockets along under the East Side Drive for a
few blocks and then heads down Avenue C, which is narrow and crowded. It's
a Spanish and Puerto Rican neighborhood to begin with, then farther
downtown it's mostly Jewish. Lots of people are out on the street shaking
hands and clapping each other on the back, and the stores are all closed.

Every time the bus stops, the driver shouts to some of the people on the
sidewalk, and he seems to know a good many of the passengers who get on.
He asks them about their jobs, or their babies, or their aunt who's sick
in Bellevue. This is pretty unusual in New York, where bus drivers usually
act like they hate people in general and their passengers in particular.
Suddenly the bus turns off Avenue C and heads west.

Ben looks out the window and says, "Hey, this is Houston Street. I been
down here to a big delicatessen. But we're not heading downtown anymore."

"Probably it'll turn again," I say.

It doesn't, though, no