I’m walking along Seventh Avenue and I hear a man say into his cell phone, “Where are you?” and I walk a few more steps and hear another man say, “I’m right here.” I suppose they were to meet right there beside the pizza parlor, but it also seems possible that the logical flow of words might be a total coincidence; two snippets from two entirely unrelated cell phone conversations. I thought how beautiful it would be if this illusion of a conversation continued up the street from the mouths of a series of unrelated strangers. That would’ve been a great Bloomsday miracle.
