the habit of being

It’s Saturday, so I order the Falafel Super Combo “to stay.” The Super Combo costs 25 cents more than the regular Combo, because I get some taboulleh, a square of feta cheese, and whatever the singular of “grape leaves” is. I’m convinced New York City is the only place in the world where you order things “to stay” instead of “for here.”

Tahini sauce is dripping down my fingers when the falafel man asks me a question. It takes him three tries to get me to understand that he wants to know how long Spring Break is, whether it’s one week or two, whether the students will be back next Monday.

“One week. Not this coming Monday, but next Monday, everyone will be back. You’ll get more people in here.”

Here is Nile River Falafel, Inc.

“You NYU?” he asks.

“I work at the University. I don’t get to leave for Spring Break.”

“You work at the library?”

“No, I work in a lab. A science lab.”

“You live around here?”

“No, I live in Astoria. Queens.”

He wants to know how far it is and what my rent is, and I can only assume he’s looking for a place, so I tell him all this: what we pay for a two-bedroom, what we would pay if the apartment weren’t so far away from the subway, how long my commute is.

He says, “That’s no good for you. Too much time, too much money.”

I say it’s a lot cheaper than Manhattan.

He says, “I see nice lady, I want to help her. I know a room. 14th street. Near your work. Arab landlord. I know him. $500 a month.”

I try to explain that I have a lease and a roommate, that I can’t move. He keeps telling me how cheap it is and how much he wants to help me.

“Where on 14th Street?”

“Between 5th and 6th.”

“Wow.”

“You live with a lady or a man?”

“A woman.”

“One bedroom. You can share.”

“Our lease doesn’t end until August. We’d get in trouble.”

“You lose two hours of your time. Every day. Is not good for you. You change your mind, you come back here. I will help you.”