No, but listen. I’m not saying I like it, Simon said, as Sarah let go of his hand and inched away from him. She hated when he got all preachy and theoretical. That’s not how it works, he continued. I mean, it’s not how it should work. You hold something to be true because it matches what you see, not because it gives you hope.

I don’t know dude. I think your whole ”the world is just a series of random and unrelated events and nothing really matters or means anything ” act is just lazy, if I’m being honest. And it’s tired. It’s not exactly groundbreaking to claim some deep philosophical stance when all you’re really doing is giving up. The world is going to shit and you’re just standing there watching.

Oh, I’m the problem? As people turned their heads and stepped aside upon their way, he realized that he was shouting. She smiled, knowing she just hit a nerve. Look at those religious nuts, he continued in a hushed voice, gesturing at the Jehovah’s Witnesses standing by the entrance of the park. We’re all going backwards because of people like that, protecting their precious little delusions. All I’m saying is that you get caught up in all of these things, the tent cities, global warming, the war in Gaza, and yes, they are human tragedies, but it’s all just a speckle of dust in the grand scheme of things. No matter how you look at it, time and space are infinite, and we’re just a tiny part of it. Something, at some point, is going to be the end of us, you can bet on that. The sooner we accept that, the better. It’s actually kind of liberating, when you think of it.

Ok, but exactly, it’s all a question of scale. Things matter a lot or not at all depending on how close or far you chose to look at it, and you, my dude, chose to zoom all the way out. You saying it ultimately doesn’t matter because we’ll all be gone in like six million years from now is a choice. What you do between now and then is a choice. Look at what we manage to accomplish, when we set our minds to it. How would you get to sip on your precious Cortados if people didn’t get “ all caught up ” in the logistics of it? Isn’t it just as pointless as all of those things you chose not to care about? Personally, it brings me joy when things are done for their own sake. Not for money or logistics. No purpose but its own existence. You know? The Pixies, soup dumplings, Kelly Reichardt films? No offence, but if everybody felt the way you did, we’d all be sitting in caves, waiting to die.

He stammered for a few seconds, until he noticed a small gathering on the next block. A few dozen people. Some music. Nothing out of the ordinary in this neighborhood.

Oh, what’s that?, he asked. She smiled mischievously. Saved by the bell, eh? She got on the tip of her feet and used her hand as a visor as she looked, a pantomime he would surely have mocked if not for his desire to end this argument he was clearly losing. Oh yeah, she said, I forgot about that. It’s the memorial for the bodega cat. He was hit by a car last week. Let’s go take a look! She ran towards the crowd. Simon followed her reluctantly.

​

All that for a cat, he thought, looking at the painted whiskers on people’s faces and their prop tails. A folk singer sang 4 non blondes’ What’s Up?, her fingers tripping on her long feather earrings as they ran on the guitar’s fretboard. People tentatively sang along to the chorus, trying to consolidate their memory on how it went. Sarah sang along while he looked around. Two network television news outlets were present. It was, he observed, the disposable news outfit. The one covering quirky local happenings that only made the cut on uneventful days. He recognized their neighbor, Ingrid, talking to a reporter who stood at an angle behind the camera. Somewhere between a smile and a cry, Ingrid was looking up, lost in gentle reminiscences. Oh, I've known Gunther for, uh, eleven years, she said. He was such a regal cat. Little king of everything, basking on the café tables on warm sunny days, posing for passersby. Such... such a wonderful cat, she concluded, choking and excusing herself.

The folk singer thanked the crowd as she was packing her guitar and homemade demo CDs in the hard shell guitar case. The next performer was the first person he had noticed wearing the cat outfit. He thought it was a bit grotesque for a woman her age. Hi y’all, she said shyly. I was very reluctant to do this. I’m not a performer. I just loved Gunther. She stopped for a second, holding back her tears. So what I got for you is a little dance called the Cat’s Dance. I thought it was appropriate. I learned it in school. To be honest, it’s probably the only thing I remember from school. She laughed at her own joke. A few people politely echoed her chuckle. Now, I’m doing this from memory, so bear with me. I’ll do it once, to demonstrate, and then maybe you can do it with me?

Simon looked around in panic. Would people really dance along? If they did and he didn’t, he would probably embarrass himself in their eyes. But if he did, then he had the non- participants to think about. Sarah smiled at him. It’s a safe space, she said, shuffling from foot to foot in preparation. He felt trapped. Everybody gathered in concentric half-circles around the cat-lady who was sliding a cassette tape in a small ghettoblaster. She hopped to her feet and demonstrated the dance to the beat of a Scherzando played over piano. The dance was simple enough. Right foot to the front, to the back and to the side. Shift your weight on the right foot to put your left foot out to the side, then to the back and to the front. Perform a 180• jump with your butt out and do it all over again. Around him, people slowly started to perform the steps. He joined in, eyes on his neighbors for reference. Those who caught his glimpse smiled at him. Once he got the hang of it, he started to smile back. It went on for a comical amount of time. Eventually, the song faded. The cat-lady smiled to herself, grabbed her radio and disappeared into the hand-clapping crowd.

A series of eulogies ensued. An a capella band sang cat themed jiggles, an art collective inaugurated the Cat’s Alley: the International Center of Feline Art in the courtyard next to the bodega, some cafe goers lamented that the terrasse wouldn’t feel the same without Gunther there, someone asked for photo and video contributions for Gunther’s posthumous Instagram page.

Lastly, the Bodega owner stood in the center with another man. Hello, you all know me, I’m Farouk, the Bodega owner, and Gunther’s former companion. Total silence filled the air when he spoke. I know he was a fixture of this neighborhood, and gave joy to many of you, but he meant even more to me. That’s why, as I’m standing with this man, I want you to hear him out with love and compassion. The man spoke with a shaky voice. Hello, I’m Doug. I’ve known Farouk for a long time. Buying cigarettes from him when I still smoked, then gum when I decided to quit. His chuckle was met with complete silence. He was there at these different stages of my life, you know? The ups, the downs. My divorce. Gave my kids Mr. Freeze every now and then. That’s why, his voice became hoarse, it was especially hard for me to tell him I had struck Gunther with my car when pulling over. I remember walking in the depanneur, holding Gunther’s limp body. The man stopped and broke out crying. The crowd was stunned by conflicting emotions. Farouk embraced and hushed him gently. The sight of the two men weeping and hugging each other tightly sent a wave of emotionality across the crowd now in the hundreds. Mere strangers, people who only knew the sight of each other from the grocery store or the line at one of the kebab joints, also fell in each other’s arms, then turned around to hug as many as they could.

After a while, the crown broke out of its own volition. The weather was pleasant to the point of unnoticeability. The blinding sun took on a warmer hue as it met the horizon. People lightheartedly discussed dinner plans. The first corn of the season. The authentic Margherita pizza joint. Among them, Simon and Sarah were soaking up the good vibes and holding hands again.