How I Spent The Last Three Days of My April...

...Sitting in a Centre Street courtroom praying that the jury clerk wouldn't call my name.  It didn't work as well as I had hoped.

At four o'clock on the second day of my summons, I stupidly thought I was home-free when the clerk approached the mic.  Surely he was going to tell us that we had fulfilled our two-day service requirement and that we could all go home.  Instead, he called sixteen names for a panel.  My name was number sixteen of sixteen.  AT FOUR O'CLOCK.  THE LAST NAME ON THE LIST.  What are the chances?!  We sixteen were seriously disappointed and begrudgingly returned for a third day.

God kept it real and saw to it that I wasn't selected for the jury.  Whew.  It's a good thing because after three days of Julia in Chinatown, I don't think there's a single bakery south of Canal Street with a cream bun left.

The one fun thing about jury duty is that I can walk home at the end of the day.  I pass by an amazing plethora of unique, for lack of a better word, things.  Architectural elements, buildings, colors, people, boutiques, cafes, neighborhoods, signs, street art...New York boasts an unusually high volume and concentration of uniqueness.  Like this guy perched on a ledge along Houston.  He greeted me on Mulberry Street every day when I worked in SoHo.  It was so nice to see him again.