Dumped again. Despondency deluged me. I obviously missed her deliberately trailing behind me in the queue. No doubt she’d bolted as soon as the doors shut, while I was busy dreaming of the final scene in Sleepless in Seattle. I just wasn’t fashion darling, just a fecking farmer. 

I milled around, hoping I was wrong. Niggled, I mulled over our time together, she’d given me her business card while in the café, so I could make contact, but would that be a bit too stalkerish? Jeepers, I was confused. She probably thought me too familiar, too needy. Just forget her Brendan. But I couldn’t.

A crush – I had a boyish crush on a stranger. New York – ‘Concrete jungle where dreams are made of.’ I’d fallen for the 'Fairytale of New York.' I pulled myself out of the low, I’ll go back to the Hotel, shower, and pick up another adventure in some buzzing bar. I wandered towards the exit and out onto 5th avenue, resigned.

I joined a great throng of people marching down the avenue; until his gnarled face stopped me – zombie man – again.

On the other side of the road, looking directly at me, making a pointing gesture towards his feet. Was this man following me?  He continued pointing at his feet; ahhh, something stuck on my shoe? I looked downwards, nothing. I felt a rumble, a tingling vibration in my feet, which sent a rush of realisation through me – the subway – Akira’s bag.

We'd spoken with the large lady subway attendant, who’d promised to salvage the bag and keep it in her booth, “I can only keep things in here for 24 hours honey, any later and it goes to the NYC lost property unit. You got yourself a cute one there honey, if you get tired of him send him my way,” she'd said with a great guttural giggle. So intent was I on getting to the subway, I forgot to stop and ask the zombie man what his game was. When I looked back he was gone.

“Excuse me, I was here with my friend this morning, she left her bag on the train…” She interrupted me abruptly, but kindly, “Hi cutey, you’re just in time honey, I’m a goin home now,” she said, while handing me the bag. She then donned a black witches hat, picked up a broom and said,  “You tell that girl of yours she’s one lucky lady.” She walked towards the exit, emitting a great guttural giggle as she went. As Akira said, the natives really did take this Halloween business seriously.

I waited expectantly at the booth For Akira to collect her bag.

She didn’t show - as the Americans say. I went back to the coffee shop where we met and ordered an espresso. Jet lag suddenly hit me. I sipped a sup of coffee that nearly blew the head off me and stared out the window. It felt like Ground Hog day. I drained the cup and headed back to my Hotel - with Akira’s bag!

Falling onto the bed, I felt myself succumbing to slumber when I was hit with one of those alarming pre-sleep jolts. The zombie man’s face flashed me back into full wide-awake conscience. A flash back of him mouthing something to me in the lift returned to torment me with its fleeting frustration. What the feck was he saying? This fella freaked me out.

I couldn’t sleep, yet wasn’t in the mood to go out. Perhaps a drink in the hotel bar might help me relax and switch off from an unsettling day.

I swigged on a beer. My mind focused on the zombie man. Seeing the same man thrice in a city of this magnitude seemed beyond coincidence. I concentrated hard on his face in the lift. He mouthed ONE word. But there were three syllables. I spent the rest of the evening scribbling three syllable words onto a growing mound of napkins desperately searching for recognition. But the word eluded me.

The day, beer and jet lag all conspired to make me feel drugged and bleary eyed. I was pondering a second drink when a great drunken gang of zombies, vampires, witches, werewolves and numerous super heroes rushed towards the bar. Feck it! I’d had enough. My bed beckoned. I’d be glad to get Halloween in New York over with.