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The Daily Life of a Psychic

Everyone who knows me knows that I have no sense of direction. Take me a few blocks from my home, spin me around, and I'll have to ask directions to get back. How I compensate is by having written directions with me that I reverse beforehand for the trip home. Well, the directions I was clutching in my hand this Sunday when I tried to take a subway to Park Slope, I made an error that I couldn't seem to correct, no matter how many times I squinted at the subway map. And then a young Japanese man, Yoshi, saw how hopelessly botched I was and actually went out of his way to accompany me to a stop where I could change for the correct train. We broke into conversation about how it was to have relatives coming to visit from other countries. When I was a kid, my English cousin, Franklin, would be sleeping in my bed while I was balancing myself on two chairs fitted out with pillows in the hallway. He commiserated. He and his wife were sleeping in the livingroom so that his parents could have their bedroom. After I thanked him profusely, he explained that everyday he tries to do something good for a stranger because, having come to the U.S. on his own when he was nineteen, he learned that these acts of kindness made him feel less alone. He told me he came to the U.S. to study jazz and he now has a band called Afrobeats, a mix of African and West Indian music. I'd like to repay his kindness by telling everyone to watch out for them. http://www.akoyamusic.com/bio.html