A Magicked Pipe

There are some nights, nights when people work past midnight cutting boards and listening to music, that living in a carpentry shop isn't the joy filled place it would seem to be. Fortunately the smoothie guy was clever enough to get my brain turning the next morning.

Still working on the bathroom. It seems like this is the never ending job. In reality all I promised to do was install a shower. When I arrived I found I was building a bathroom and a loft. This including walls, lights, doors, windows, tile,... I'm not sure if this is worth the trouble.

Finding I was short on two inch pipe I made a nice walk over to the plumbing supply store on Prospect Park street and 5th Ave. Walking in I requested a 10 foot piece of 2 inch PVC pipe, MAPP gas, and a few copper fittings. After paying, the plumbing genius guy handed me my bag with the MAPP gas and copper fittings in it. Seeing my confusion he explained, "Your pipe is outside under the latch." I pretended to know exactly what he meant.

As I walked outside I began to worry I would have to go back inside, look like and idiot, and ask again where the pipe was. I looked to the left side of the side walk and only found the latch leading into the basement. Then I noticed a 1' x 1' metal square cover right in the middle of the side walk. I had walked right over it every time i had come down this street.

After examining it like a blind man I noticed the latch had a pull out handle on it. Wondering how my 10 foot piece of pipe could fit into such a hole, but not wanting to go back in and look like a green horn, I opened the hatch. There in front of me was the end of my purchased pipe. The other end I could only assume was resting on the basement floor, for the hole was angled. I grabbed the one end and pulled it up. As a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat I pulled my pipe out of the sidewalk. Except in this case I was also the audience. My face showed astonishment and joy of the produced pipe.

As I walked down the street with my magicked pipe I noticed that Brooklynites only talk to you when they want to tell you you're doing something wrong. "Put the bag on the one end of the pipe!"; "Hold it with both hands to balance it!"; "Don't go to far out into the street with that. A car will hit the end before you see it." I replied to all such comments with my kind you're-so-helpful smile. I've noticed this makes them feel like they've accomplished a great deal.

I love how some old guys are proud of their saggy hairy bodies. The 70 year old guy with no shirt and underwear sticking out was as if the future me had come to the past to visit.