I Saw A White Lady Standing On The Street Just Sobbing (And I Think About It Once A Week)

I saw a white lady standing on the street just sobbing

And I think about it once a week

It was two years ago

Christmastime, foot of snow

Passing through Union Square

And I saw this crying white lady

Just kinda standing there

Funny. What if, instead of getting on a subway with my entire class for a field trip to look at bugs, I'd walk over?

I approach, she's demure

She thinks "Who is this four-foot bachelor?"

So my hand I extend

And say, "I'm Alex J. and you look like you need a friend"

Why are you crying in a public place?

Perhaps a friend of yours was fake to your face?

Or did you just come from Trader Joe's

And you paid too much for your avocados?

No Kleenex in her purse

I've a handkerchief for her, of course

Monogrammed "Alex J"

Keep it ma'am

Because you're just having one of those days

I understand

She takes my hand

We walk uptown and dine at Au Bon Pain

I talk of Sherlock Gnomes

From beginning to end

Then suddenly I say

"What's that sound I hear?"

"Your lovely laugh, my dear"

You got problems and I don't wanna delve

You're a grown up and I'm barely twelve

But spill your problems, I can help you with coping

Look me in the eye and the floodgates will open

They're phasing out my department

And I will lose my apartment

My mom is no support system

I like bad guys, can't resist them

Forgot to DVR Drag Race

My friend Alisse, fake to my face

Some fraud made them freeze my Amex

And then I ran into my ex

And some days this city and de Blasio just makes me scream "Why?!"

Why not just stand here and cry?

And also, this whole time, I'm wearing my dad's fancy scarf and my Heelys.

Her eyes glisten

I don't talk, I listen

Then the rain starts again

We scurry down the street to another Au Bon Pain

She takes my handkerchief from her purse

She says, "Alex J, I feel like I'm cursed"

Lady, I know that the sky isn't clear

But it cannot rain every day of the year

You can't just be crying in your own narrative

Because we tell ourselves stories in order to live

She nods, Joan Didion

I take her hand to Le Pain Quotidien

And we talk about life and love and Sherlock Gnomes

Until it's time to go home

That's what I think would happen

But it's all imagined

And I will wonder 'til the end

What if I hadn't walked away

Would that crying lady be my friend?

Anyway, I remember all sorts of things. Thanks for listening. And wherever you are, lady, have a good night.