A good name.

I’m not very superstitious, and I don’t believe in luck much. But I did have a very interesting occurrence today that I loved.

Angel numbers are numbers like 111, 222, etcetera. They’re believed to convey messages or guidance from spiritual beings or the universe.

Many people claim to notice angel numbers or numbers of significance every time they see a clock or something similar. This phenomenon seemed to occur frequently after September 11th. Everyone would be like, "Every time I look at the clock it’s 9:11." In reality, when the time is 4:16, you don’t mentally register it because it doesn’t hold significance. But when you see 9:11, it sticks in your memory.

Anyway, nobody says, "I never see this time or anything like that," until my friend did. He's a heroic individual who taught himself to speak Burmese in order to live in Myanmar and engage in revolutionary work. He's quite an anomaly. Before his sudden departure from America, we used to always message each other angel numbers at specific times, like 333 at 3:33 pm, and so on. He mentioned this the other day.

Today, something remarkable happened. I spontaneously decided to hike through the city because it was such a gloriously sunny day. It was the type of day that restored your faith in the joy of New York City after an unpleasant, rainy, and somewhat cold winter. I say "cold-ish" because it hasn’t been truly cold in ages. Winter used to be freezing all the time, forcing you indoors for five straight months. Even wearing scanty Halloween outfits required commitment and sacrifice. Anyway, it was warm, so I biked around.

Feeling nostalgic, I passed by a food co-op that my favorite ex-girlfriend and I used to visit. It was in Manhattan, and we’d make the trip from Brooklyn on weekends. She always worked there for a specific shift and received a discount for doing so. Today I go inside.

This co-op is really cute and doesn’t provide packaging for most goods. It's a zero-waste business with a fantastic selection, and I'm a huge fan. I had no need for any food, but I looked around and carefully selected three bananas and two pears. I chatted with the lady working there about how it had been years since I’d been there, explaining the context. It had actually been 9 years, which is crazy. She asked if I lived around here, as I sounded like I moved out of state, but I’ve just never been back because it’s not all that cheap or close. It's very cute and high-quality.

A mediocre video showing the high quality goods at the co-op.

I paid with cash, so I got a three percent discount. My total was 2 dollars and some change, but I only had two-dollar bills and no change. I apologized, saying I had no quarters, so I’d have to break a big bill. She kindly said, “Oh, you can just take some of this,” gesturing at a little dish where customers could take or leave change. There appeared to be exactly 23 cents. Feeling nostalgic and warm about this co-op, I said, “No, you know what? I’ll leave money instead,” and handed her a ten-dollar bill. “Seven seventy-seven is your change,” she announced. 777. I thought this was very special. I told her I wouldn’t leave money after all because I felt the sum shouldn’t be broken up; I was feeling very sentimental about it. The lady was so nice and warm but in a really chill way, it wasn’t Trader Joe’s effort status, though those people are cool too. Seven is the lucky one too! Also, the pears and bananas were priced by weight…

Oh. Also. This week I met a lady waiting for the subway named 7. I asked her if she’d seen the Seinfeld episode then I said… “what am I talking about, you’re named is 7” Well, it seems like it’s definitely time to catch up with my friend.

My Bike at the co-op.