Introduction to "The Diary of Tim Scheft" by Meseret Haddis:
How many of you keep a diary? Captain's Log? Journal? Memoir? I personally don't keep a diary, because the thought of reliving my day on paper is nauseating. But I have found it a common occurrence of people finding writings or things of the sort, in the trash, or in coffins and then posting them on the internet, or showing them to their friends. It's a odd thing finding something that wasn't meant for your eyes or wasn't of very much value to the original person. It's less illegal than voyeurism, but still as thrilling.
This here is the diary of Tim Scheft. Let me tell you the story of how I happened upon the diary. One day, I was walking on Mercer street, in lower Manhattan, admiring the noises of an Armenian man yelling at Dutch tourists for not understanding that they aren't the only people walking the sidewalk. Walking along the street, I saw a small little grassy area, which is amazing to find in Manhattan. For people who move to a city that has so much concrete per square mile than almost any other city, they sure love there small grassy patches. Lying in them, reading Kafka, silently judging people as they walk by.
How many of you keep a diary? Captain's Log? Journal? Memoir? I personally don't keep a diary, because the thought of reliving my day on paper is nauseating. But I have found it a common occurrence of people finding writings or things of the sort, in the trash, or in coffins and then posting them on the internet, or showing them to their friends. It's a odd thing finding something that wasn't meant for your eyes or wasn't of very much value to the original person. It's less illegal than voyeurism, but still as thrilling.
This here is the diary of Tim Scheft. Let me tell you the story of how I happened upon the diary. One day, I was walking on Mercer street, in lower Manhattan, admiring the noises of an Armenian man yelling at Dutch tourists for not understanding that they aren't the only people walking the sidewalk. Walking along the street, I saw a small little grassy area, which is amazing to find in Manhattan. For people who move to a city that has so much concrete per square mile than almost any other city, they sure love there small grassy patches. Lying in them, reading Kafka, silently judging people as they walk by.
Walking by I noticed a park bench, but what was under it really grabbed my attention. From my distance I couldn't asses the hand sized item. Being a citizen of America and especially a citizen of New York, I adhered to the common practices of civilized humans. Before approaching said item, I called the police and the bomb squad to be safe. I saw something, now I must say something about it. After they cornered off three blocks, putting traffic into a deadlock, they decreed the suspicious item not harmful. After a steep fine the started to pack up there things. Apparently it's a new policy, where if the police are tipped, and the bomb squad finds nothing dangerous, the person that tips the police off is actually fined for the inconvenience. So I proceeded to pick up the item, which was this diary of Tim Scheft. I began reading his diary, partly because I couldn't find him (he wasn't listed) and I had recently burned all my books. Little piece of advice: Don't sign up for a book burning, without contacting your attorney first.
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