Banana Peel

Dear Diary:

One spring day, my neighbor and I were walking past a red car parked at the corner of 80th Street and Second Avenue. As we passed, the window rolled down and out came a banana peel.

Without giving it a thought, I turned toward the driver.

“Really?” I said.

“What,” he said, clearly startled.

“You just threw a banana peel into my living room,” I said.

“It was my brother from another mother,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

“Pick it up,” I said.

He opened the car door and stepped out. I saw that he was maybe 6-foot-3. He came around the car, bent down, picked up the peel and put it in the trash can.

“Thank you,” I said, and went off down Second Avenue.

— Arlene Diesenhouse

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A Long Deli Line

Dear Diary:

I lived in Brooklyn during the 1970s when I was going to college. Every Saturday morning, a classmate and I went to the local supermarket to buy groceries for the week. It was the only market in the neighborhood, and it was almost always crowded.