Dear Diary:

  I was wandering through the Times Square subway station at rush hour when I noticed a blind woman walking perilously close to the tracks.

  I approached her and offered my assistance. She took my arm with her left hand and held her walking stick in her right.

  She said she was on her way to catch a No. 1 train. I said it would be my pleasure to walk her there.

  As I led her along, following the clearly marked signs toward her destination, we started to talk. I was recounting the story of my life when she stopped me short.

  “I think it’s that way,” she said. She was pointing toward a passageway to the left.

  The sign above us proved her right. I changed course, and she joked that she had made a lucky guess.

  We reached the No. 1 platform as a train was arriving. The crowd parted as I guided her onto the train.

  “This is where we go our separate ways,” I said.

  “Where are you headed?” she asked.

  “The Q train,” I said. “Heading home to Brooklyn.”

  As the subway doors closed, she reached out her hand and extended her index finger. She was pointing me in the direction of the Q.

  — Benjamin Rubin

  Dear Diary:

  Location: A bookshelf in Gramercy Thrift ShopOccasion: Bargain hunting with my motherObservation: Three juxtaposed titles

  “The Death of Feminism: What’s Next in the Struggle for Women’s Freedom,” by Phyllis Chesler“How to Be a Party Girl,” by Pat Montandon“Mr. Boston: Official Bartender’s and Party Guide”

  — Paul Klenk

  Dear Diary:

  It was a hot, humid August afternoon in 1974, the summer between my sophomore and junior years in college. I was working as a bank messenger, traveling between branches to pick up the day’s records for delivery to the bank’s computer center.

  I was on an uptown No. 4 train with the guy who would succeed me. I was training him before I went back to school. He was wearing a pith helmet to combat the heat and humidity.

  New York City’s subway cars typically lacked air-conditioning in those days, and the windows would often be opened to allow the occasional breeze.

  That was the case in the car that my successor and I were on. We were sitting on a long bench seat, open windows over our heads.

  The train pulled into the Wall Street station. Passengers got off and passengers got on and the car doors closed. And then, as the train lurched forward, a hand reached through an open window and snatched the pith helmet off my colleague’s head.

  Everyone in the car was silent, stunned by the brazenness of what had just happened. And then everyone in the car broke into laughter and applause at the nerve and dexterity required to carry out such a masterful theft.

  — Patrick M. Malgieri

  Dear Diary:

  In fall 1996, my mother visited me in New York. Besides taking her to my favorite haunts, I had arranged a surprise for her: a visit to meet Helene Hanff, the author of “84, Charing Cross Road,” one of my mother’s favorite books.

  Truth be told, it was a surprise for me too. After thinking up the idea on a whim, I had not expected that Helene Hanff would be listed in the phone book, answer my call and invite us to her apartment.

  The Columbus Day Parade was in full swing as we left the subway at 72nd Street that day and made our way to Ms. Hanff’s cluttered Upper East Side studio apartment, where she lived by herself.

  She expressed incredulity that my mother had read her books in India and had wanted to meet her. While the two of them chatted and Ms. Hanff autographed my own much-loved copies of her books, I offered to tidy up her little space, turning her bed back into a sofa, emptying ashtrays, folding clothes and fetching her a cup of coffee.

  On the wall outside her tiny kitchen, Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins stared down from a poster for the movie version of “84, Charing Cross Road.”

  Ms. Hanff passed away six months later, in April 1997.

  — Vidya Shenoi Madiraju

  Dear Diary:

  I was walking north on First Avenue when I decided to cross the street to look at the menu posted in a restaurant window.

  I was about halfway across the street when a woman came up next to me.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “do you know where I can pick up the Q train?”

  “I’m really sorry, but I have no idea,” I said. “I don’t live in the city.”

  She took a few steps, and then she turned around.

  “But you look like you belong here,” she said.

  — Kenneth Pinsker

  Read all recent entries and our submissions guidelines. Reach us via email diary@nytimes.com or follow @NYTMetro on Twitter.

  Illustrations by Agnes Lee



  126期正版综合资料第三份【明】【明】【林】【谦】【唱】【得】【更】【好】。 【可】【是】,【龙】【吟】【社】【没】【有】【拿】【出】【林】【谦】【来】。【龙】【吟】【社】【不】【是】【什】【么】【大】【社】,【在】【这】【种】【档】【次】【的】【比】【赛】【里】【都】【必】【须】【要】【全】【力】【以】【赴】【才】【行】。【他】【们】【不】【像】【青】【林】、【平】【南】【那】【样】【有】【实】【力】【去】【玩】【什】【么】A【阵】【容】B【阵】【容】,【否】【则】【如】【果】【留】【力】,【很】【可】【能】【就】【会】【输】【掉】【比】【赛】。 【所】【以】【陆】【雨】【承】【才】【会】【疑】【惑】,【为】【什】【么】【不】【是】【林】【谦】【唱】? 【可】【是】,【他】【话】【到】【了】【嘴】【边】【却】【没】【有】【问】【出】【来】。

【奥】【托】【有】【些】【惊】【讶】,【向】【托】【马】【西】【斯】【询】【问】【道】:“【他】【们】【这】【是】?” “【笼】【子】【里】【装】【的】【是】【精】【灵】,【从】【北】【方】【来】【的】【精】【灵】【通】【常】【可】【以】【买】【个】【好】【价】【钱】。”【托】【马】【西】【斯】【低】【声】【解】【释】,“【不】【过】【这】【种】【买】【卖】【在】【市】【面】【上】【是】【被】【禁】【止】【的】,【这】【人】【估】【计】【准】【备】【拿】【到】【隐】【秘】【市】【场】【上】【交】【易】。” “【隐】【秘】【市】【场】?【那】【是】【什】【么】?” 【尖】【啸】【声】【越】【来】【越】【近】,【奥】【托】【看】【着】【地】【图】,【对】【方】【是】【从】【小】【镇】【中】【心】【的】【方】

【然】【而】【令】【人】【大】【跌】【眼】【镜】【的】【是】,【那】【条】【正】【在】【追】【逐】【的】【亚】【龙】【顿】【住】【了】【飞】【行】,【毫】【不】【犹】【豫】【的】【转】【身】【离】【开】,【离】【开】【了】。 【离】【开】【了】…… 【安】【启】【伦】【三】【人】:??? 【只】【剩】【下】3【个】【人】【正】【在】【鬼】【哭】【狼】【嚎】【的】【拼】【命】【向】【他】【们】【这】【里】【跑】【来】。 “【吓】?!”【森】【尼】【张】【开】【嘴】【巴】,【拳】【头】【上】【的】【火】【焰】【随】【之】【熄】【灭】,【揉】【了】【揉】【眼】【睛】,【不】【敢】【置】【信】【眼】【前】【的】【一】【幕】,“【这】【是】【怎】【么】【回】【事】?【是】【我】【眼】【花】【了】

  “【你】【同】【意】【希】【留】【拿】【着】【魔】【剑】【去】【找】【犯】【人】【厮】【杀】?!” 【伯】【特】【对】【哥】【白】【尼】【说】【的】【事】【情】【震】【惊】【不】【已】。 “【阁】【下】【误】【会】【了】。【我】【怎】【么】【可】【能】【让】【希】【留】【还】【没】【收】【服】‘【狂】【王】’【的】【时】【候】,【将】【它】【带】【出】【牢】【房】【交】【给】【柳】【生】【宗】,【给】【柳】【生】【宗】【矩】【决】【斗】【用】【的】【只】【是】【普】【通】【刀】【剑】。”【哥】【白】【尼】【苦】【笑】【道】。 “【喂】,【关】【键】【不】【是】【刀】【剑】【普】【不】【普】【通】【好】【吧】!”【伯】【特】【满】【满】【的】【吐】【槽】【欲】【望】。 【哥】【白】【尼】【仿】【佛】126期正版综合资料第三份【从】【此】【我】【知】【道】【我】【的】【身】【后】【总】【会】【有】【个】【影】【子】,【从】【波】【士】【顿】【的】【研】【究】【院】【一】【路】【到】【机】【场】。 【我】【同】【四】【年】【前】【已】【经】【大】【不】【相】【同】,【如】【果】【说】【四】【年】【前】【我】【像】【个】【不】【谙】【世】【事】【的】【小】【姑】【娘】,【见】【到】【什】【么】【事】【总】【希】【望】【刨】【根】【问】【底】【弄】【清】【原】【因】。【那】【么】【如】【今】【我】【更】【像】【一】【个】【沧】【桑】【的】【老】【人】。【若】【他】【真】【的】【不】【想】【让】【我】【知】【道】【他】【是】【谁】,【我】【便】【只】【能】【静】【静】【的】【等】【待】。 【我】【和】【那】【个】【影】【子】【从】【波】【士】【顿】【分】【别】【之】【后】【便】【再】【也】


  【几】【个】【世】【家】【公】【子】【进】【宫】【的】【事】【情】【她】【知】【道】,【她】【也】【知】【道】【清】【平】【公】【主】【肯】【定】【不】【乐】【意】,【因】【为】【这】【些】【世】【家】【都】【在】【外】【地】,【虽】【说】【他】【们】【的】【大】【本】【营】【所】【在】【地】【有】【繁】【华】【热】【闹】,【可】【能】【繁】【华】【的】【过】【京】【城】【吗】?【清】【平】【公】【主】【最】【喜】【奢】【华】【热】【闹】,【岂】【能】【忍】【受】【乡】【下】【的】【冷】【清】【和】【荒】【凉】? 【所】【以】,【齐】【太】【后】【的】【一】【片】【拳】【拳】【爱】【女】【之】【心】,【只】【能】【打】【水】【漂】【了】。 “【这】【些】【世】【家】【可】【不】【穷】,【他】【们】【虽】【然】【比】【不】【上】【皇】【家】,

  “【万】【像】【园】?”【白】【小】【七】【疑】【问】【道】 “【你】【是】【说】【那】【些】【立】【满】【了】【一】【尊】【尊】【高】【大】【石】【像】【的】【园】【林】” 【那】【尹】【川】【修】【听】【了】【是】【叹】【息】【道】“【也】【许】【冥】【冥】【之】【中】【自】【有】【定】【数】!” 【白】【小】【七】【见】【尹】【川】【修】【一】【脸】【忧】【愁】【不】【由】【得】【问】【道】“【真】【君】【何】【出】【此】【言】?” 【只】【听】【那】【尹】【川】【修】【道】”【你】【是】【有】【所】【不】【知】【那】【万】【像】【园】【里】【立】【着】【的】【每】【一】【尊】【石】【像】【生】【也】【都】【注】【有】【一】【丝】【神】【力】【是】【用】【来】【吸】【收】【天】【地】【灵】【气】【来】【维】【持】【玄】



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