When I first met her, I was pretty new to the area. I had just landed my first job in Manhattan, and I was giddy, to say the least. After all, when you're fresh out of college, you'll take anything you can get to make ends meet. This particular job, however, just happened to take both ends and firmly weld them to each other.
Phoenix Electronics, Inc. has been an industry leader for about five years now, making the nation's most popular computers and electronic devices. So, when I applied for the job, I really wasn't expecting them to hire me. Besides, I thought that most successful places managed to keep their overhead low by downsizing. Well, call it an inferiority complex, but I was reeling when I heard at the instant interview that I was hired. Businesses don't normally operate and make decisions at that speed, but I guess that they liked me. After taking down some info, I was told to come back tomorrow with my best business-casual outfit on.
I had just left their newly-built offices in Midtown around sunset, deciding to grab a bite to eat on the way home. I had a cozy little place in SoHo (thanks to a little payment arrangement made by Washington State), and it kept me sane to know that I had a guaranteed place to stay, if nothing else. It wasn't very highly furnished, but it was enough for a man of my current status in life.
I stopped on my way home at a gyro stand, hoping that it wasn't too obvious that I wasn't from around here. I had heard stories about murders, robberies, and other such things happening in the city, so I guess that it was only natural that I'd be kind of nervous around here. I waited a bit for my order, taking in the delectable aromas of the sizzling meat and the warm falafel, when I heard the sounds of a minor struggle in a nearby alleyway. It was a small thing, in retrospect, but it piqued at my curiosity. I looked at the gyro man, back to the alley, and once more to the man. He simply shrugged, placing the finishing touches on the sandwich and wrapping it. He placed it onto the ledge, balancing it perfectly, and said:
"It'll be here when you get back."
It has always amazed me how New Yorkers can seemingly read your thoughts as plain as day. I nodded to him, handing him my jacket and walking uneasily towards the alley. I have no idea why I trusted a guy with my jacket that I hadn't known for ten minutes. Chalk it up to stupidity. I don't get it either.

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