Any time you walk past a New Yorker who is on the phone, they seem to be having some kind of crisis. I started writing down these snatches of overheard conversation, and after a day or so in Manhattan I had this poem:
I’d have to, like, put a band-aid on it or something.
It’s just a really bad idea.
I just don’t want anybody in there,
cause I know how bad the MTA sucks.
Like, only fifteen minutes ago,
there were kids everywhere.
I think it captures the spirit of New York phone calls quite nicely.