I was shoveling my car out today, struggling. I parked on the side the plows push the snow to. There was a 2’ wall of brown, ice covered snow I’d had to remove before my rear wheel drive car would budge. I thought I was close, so I got in, tried to wiggle out but - no luck.

1/n

I’m rocking back and forth, can’t make it over the mound, so I leave my car sticking part way into the street and get to clearing the rest. It’s a lot of snow. Meanwhile, this guy is walking toward me. Older dude, cane, big medical boot with a plastic bag around it on one foot.

Standing in the middle of the road, he makes a noise like ‘Ooo good luck’ and, sweaty even tho its 30F, I say I know and explain my approach. Pointing with my shovel I say I think if I clear this part, I can pass here and so on and etc and he looks at me and goes “Mm mm no sir.”

He points with his cane behind my front wheel. “You break up this part and that’ll slide out. Then break up here, here” - pointing with the cane “I used to do this. I lived here on this block you know, 30 .. 40? years ago. Would shovel everyone out. I’m tellin’ you. I’ll wait.”

And he does! He waits! I start breaking up what he pointed at. Its hard at first, but he’s right. After I smash it with my shovel, the huge, solid piece in front of it almost inexplicably crumbles. I ask him about the block. He says it used to be the neighborhood Party Block.

I ask him about how long it would take. He talks about waking up early when there was snow, spending all day shoveling people out. He’d make $50 a day, sometimes. He’d never charge old folks, though. He tells me about his kids. They’d never charge old folks for a shovel either.

We’re talking, I’m shoveling. He’s pointing with his cane. Do this part, now this part. After a few minutes we hit a spot thats solid ice, and my flimsy shovel is bending. He gets a look like ‘pff no problem’ and begins stabbing the snow with his cane, making thin, deep holes.

He goes at it for 10-20 seconds and says “should be good”. And with a little more working ... it comes right up. We go like this for maybe 5 minutes. He’s stabbing the snow-ice with his cane, I’m scooping it up with my shovel and he’s giving me, frankly, great shoveling pointers.

He’s going pretty hard. I feel obliged to say I can take it from here. I gesture at his boot. Don’t need to cause you any more trouble. He tells me No no no! Doctor says he has to exercise. This is exercise ain’t it? A few moments pass. He says “Yeah. Tore my ankle up. Got shot.”

He says it like it was his fault, like he slipped down wet stairs he should have avoided. We trade stories about folks we know who have had shooting injuries. We talk about bones and pins and plates and surgeries and now the street in front of my truck is nearly clear of snow.

“You should be teaching classes on this,” I say. He waves me off. “Get in the car, see if it comes out.” It does. I ask if I can buy him a coffee or something from the bodega for his trouble. He gets a surprised and then cheeky look on his face. “You can buy me a drink?” Sure.

It’s mid-afternoon, there’s a liquor store nearby with a lotto machine. A bunch of the neighborhood old-timers hang out there. He points vaguely but doesn’t need to say where he has in mind. We walk in the street until there’s a gap in the snow to the sidewalk he can hobble over.

He’s slow, steady on his rounded boot. We talk about this and that. He lives a neighborhood over now but all his people are here. He’s retired but hates not working. Does odd jobs, works sometimes at the tattoo place. Shows me his new ink - a neck and hand tattoo that look great.

He says how he met the owner of the tattoo shop. “Same way you meet anyone. Same way I met you. Just being friendly.” He laments how many people don’t care about anyone but themselves, and making a quick buck. He does the finger rubbing motion for money. “All about this.”

Meanwhile - his people? He was not kidding. Definitely here. The shop is a block and a half from my place, and four, five people in the span stop him to say hey, comment on his injury, wish him a merry Christmas. I sorta feel like I’ve accidentally met someone famous?

We get to the shop and I make a joke about getting him whatever he wants as long as its not champagne. “You saw what kinda car I drive.” He laughs and says he wouldn’t do that to me. I buy what he points at: a small, thin bottle of coconut vodka.

He shoves it in his coat and tells me he’s going to the tattoo shop. Maybe they have some lunch, some work for him. He says I should come by anytime I see him there. He tells me his name. I tell him mine. “Mike. Alright. I’m watchin’ out for you now, Mike.” We part ways. /n