Last night, I stumbled back to my house from a friend's place in Greenpoint. Stumbled not so much because I was tipsy, which I was after watching the VMAs, but stumbled because I had injured my foot at a rooftop party on Saturday and have been hobbling around since.
I stopped into the bodega by my house and ordered a roast beef sandwich on a roll and chatted with the guy that makes the sandwiches there, Lucky. I probably have had more meaningful conversations with him than a good majority of the people that I consider to be friends. He's there every single night working the overnight shift. He has seen the entire spectrum of Charlie wasted, from just a little tipsy to an absolute mess. He is the sweetest guy and we usually end up talking about life in broad strokes.
He asked me if I am always so happy since usually I am smiling quite a bit I guess when I talk to him. I said that, yes, usually I am pretty happy and like to laugh a lot. He said he's pretty much the same way. He told me about how when he was a kid, his mom used to ask him why he laughed all the time. He would laugh about everything and his mom would say: Why do you do this? However, he told me that he isn't always happy, that there are moments when he also is really sad and doesn't laugh and people don't understand that either. For instance, he said, that recently his sister's husband had died and he was very sad about that, that it showed just as visibly on his face as a smile.
We talked about how the two come from the same place, the happiness and the sadness, that they really aren't that different at all.
I went home and ate a roast beef sandwich.