The Space We Share
When music bridges generations.
The story I’m about to tell took place in early September. The sun was beaming over the city; everyone was still in the Hamptons, and I hadn’t started work yet.
Everything felt breezy. My days were filled with aimless wandering, museum hopping, and catching up with friends.
If you know me, you know about my double-edged 'quirk': smiling at strangers. It’s a habit I’ve developed for myself and others because I refuse to believe that this world is all evil. Good is all around - you just have to be willing to find it. This habit has led to some life-changing and life-threatening encounters, and conversations, but I believe in a healthy balance. I have countless stories about the beautiful souls I’ve met by simply smiling. My latest memorable encounter was with a man I’ll call Johnny (for privacy reasons).
Quick profile: 73 years old, Capricorn, born and raised in Manhattan, orders a cappuccino and toasted bagel with butter, doesn’t know how to work an iPhone, went to Woodstock in 1969, skateboards.
I first met Johnny while walking along the West Side Highway. The sky above was an endless stretch of deep blue, and the Hudson River gleamed under the warm sun. As I made my way up from Pier 26, I heard faint, soulful music. Johnny was sitting on a metallic chair, a speaker dangling from his bag, soaking in the sun. I couldn’t help but marvel at the sight.
He is me, I am him, I thought.
Our eyes met, and I flashed a smile.
“Come here!” he called out.
I approached him, exclaiming, “This is great music!” And just like that, we were acquainted. In the twenty minutes that followed, we talked about old-school R&B, NYC culture, and our ideas of leisure.
He asked me to sit down, but my packed schedule and survival instincts told me to keep moving. I explained that I was on my way to meet someone. He mentioned that he sits here every day as long as the sun shines. Now warmed by his light, I promised to come back. We shook hands.
A week later, I found myself walking down the West Side Highway again during his usual sitting time. As I neared Pier 26, I heard that familiar music. My man!
I reintroduced myself, and he lit up, inviting me to pull up a chair. I sat. It was a warm, late-summer day. The sun blazed, its rays dancing on the water across from me - angel dust.
“Thank you for putting me on Tierra!” (a band he introduced me to when we first met) I say enthusiastically. “I went down an insane rabbit hole and am now obsessed with them,” I add, while he stares at me slightly confused.
“Right! You’re Annabelle!” he says as his face lights up.
I asked if he had any other recs similar to Tierra and Marvin Gaye (another artist we’d initially discussed and one of my personal favorites). We started talking music, but he confessed he didn’t listen to anything past the ‘70s.
“Erykah Badu, Lauryn Hill, Lil Wayne, Angie Stone, Jamiroquai, Jay-Z, Drake... you don’t know them?” I cry out, baffled. “I thought you knew your legends! Not even Michael Jackson?”
“Some of his songs, yeah. Bad was a great album, but it’s not really my thing.”
“Okay, fairs, but that’s crazy,” I say.
“Fools Rush In” by Sinatra plays softly as we continue our soft-spoken debate.
“Are you into conspiracy theories?” I ask, half-joking.
“What? Like who killed the Kennedys?”
“Yeah. What do you think? Who did it?”
“Don’t Take Away the Music” by Tavares floats in the background as he launches into a tangent about Chicago, the Rat Pack, the city in the 60s, and JFK…
“What’s your story?” I ask.
He tells me about his Italian heritage, his youth on LSD at Woodstock, partying with the Stones, Calvin Klein, and the likes at Studio 54, and how he managed to avoid going to Vietnam.
I was awestruck, hearing firsthand about events I’d consumed so much media about.
This is what life is all about, I think to myself. Connecting. Humanity is so beautiful.
“I can’t complain about my life,” he says, “I have nothing but blue skies and roses. Listen, I feel good - that’s the most important thing. I’m in a good place financially, have two children, and six grandchildren. What am I missing? A Rolex watch? A Mercedes?” He scoffs. “What I just mentioned, these are the things that matter.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I reply.
“You agree with me?”
“Yeah.”
“Life is all about choices.”
“I know. The choice is always yours.”
“Choices have consequences. You gotta make good choices.”
“I’m pretty intentional about mine.”
“People, they'll come and go but the good ones will stay.”
“Yeah, but you always got yourself.”
“Absolutely.”
“You just have to nurture that relationship the most.”
“Absolutely, you have to be your own best friend.”
Two introverts bonding. I melt inside.
“When’s your birthday?” I (had to) ask.
“January 14th, 1951.”
“Capricorn!”
“What sign are you?”
“I’m a Scorpio.”
"Scorpio. My wife was October 31st. I don’t know much about that stuff.”
“That’s one of my passions."
“Ok, so we’ve been talking for a half hour. What’s your opinion? I’m just curious. What are the vibes you’re getting? Am I nuts? Am I funny? Am I a pain in the neck?” he asks inquisitively.
“No, I think you’re the kind of person that really restores my faith in Humanity. Because you show that there still are genuine people out there.”
“You hit the nail on the head. You are so right. I don’t like all the phonies. I like genuine."
“Yeah me too. If someone points out that the sky is blue and the Sun is shining, that already tells me so much about them.”
A dog walker he knows stops by.
“It’s as simple as that. I’m just who I am. I love myself.”
“Yeah me too.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. People don’t like that.”
“Never depend on anybody.”
A truth I know all too well, I silently think.
He gives me some words of wisdom on men. We talk about how disruptive phones and social media have been to romantic relationships.
“Now, I had this $49 flip phone.”
“I mean you obviously upgraded,” I say with a sardonic smile, pointing at his iPhone.
“Yeah, I’m learning to text. You’ve got to get with the program.”
He tells me how his daughter tried to get him to share his location.
“What am I, 12 years old! What song do you want?”
He’s showing me his contact list (family only). I help him maneuver back to Apple Music.
“I’m very old school. In certain ways. Not that I’m an old fuck. But you know, my ways of thinking, my values. I grew up in a different era. You’re Gen Z, I’m a boomer.”
“Although you’re pretty open-minded for a boomer.”
“Oh yes. I’m very easy to get along with. I don’t judge anybody. Whatever makes you happy. Whatever floats your boat. Knock yourself out. As long as you’re not hurting anyone. You don’t drink, you said. You said it’s bad for the liver?”
I mention I've never gotten into it, and don’t see the point in starting now. We touch on how it's used these days and the reliance on substances to have fun. He suggests it’s about more than getting drunk - it’s social. I tell him I’ve never needed it to enjoy myself and that people more often abuse it than use it. He gets it, agreeing that without control, it’s not worth it. He goes on, giving me different scenarios where alcohol would be fun, trying to nudge my stance.
“You’re not gonna change my mind about it,” I say facetiously.
“No, no, no. I’m not trying to change your mind. You have certain values and you stick to them. You’re a woman of your word. You said you’d come back, and you did. That’s very nice. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I value genuine people. I really wanted to come back.”
“Genuine - that’s it. I have nothing to hide and nothing to lie about.”
We laugh.
“Who else do you wanna hear?”
He switches the song.
“Oh, I know this.”
“You know Dean Martin, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You been up to Hudson Yards?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s so much to do in New York. In the winter, you don’t see me sitting here. You might see me walking.”
“With the speaker?”
“No, I have a little iPod. You know the iPod?” he asks - his eyes gleaming.
“No way! That’s crazy.”
“It still works. I’m chilling.”
We ended up talking for over three hours.
In a world where filters blur reality and connections often feel shallow, it's easy to forget that authenticity still exists - if you’re willing to seek it out. This encounter, like others I’ve recently had, is a reminder that beyond the screens and curated profiles, there’s a raw, unfiltered humanity waiting to be discovered. Amidst all the virtual noise, genuine moments still thrive, and they’re often just a smile away. It's these real, unscripted conversations that ground us and remind us what it means to truly connect.
There’s so much life to be lived. So many conversations to have. So many people to meet.
If you’ve made it this far in my story, you, too, are proof that there’s so much hope.
Don’t be a stranger.
(I do not own the rights to the images, but the curation and layout of this mood board are my original work.)