god knows how long it had been there.

many decades, i guess. probably under different names.

it's the diner where mary jane worked in spiderman 1, outside of which she gave spidey the upside-down kiss.

i'd walked past it for years and always admired it, but had never gone in; maybe i didn't have money or i'd eaten somewhere else or i had an appointment or . . .

i finally entered, though.

yesterday.

the last day.

it was a timeless, metal-covered, rail-car-inspired, american diner, smaller than i expected, with a counter where you wouldn't be surprised to find a film noir detective tolerating a stale donut and some poisonous coffee before getting cold-cocked by a guy he thought was on his side. i asked for a malted and was told they couldn't make one, so i shifted to egg cream, then milkshake, but they were out of fixin's and were never going to replace them.

still, that hot beef sandwich on a nearby table looked good. it came with mashed potatoes, but the guy and his girl also had chili cheese fries with gravy. (wow.) i settled on an iced tea and some damn good fries, which i gobbled while watching the owner say goodbye.

"when the door comes down at 11, there'll be no more moondance diner -- forever -- finished," he told one regular.

then, he practically danced as he added, "i saved the diner!"

well . . . sort of.

the landlord would be building expensive apartments where the hash-house now stood but the diner itself was to be moved to a museum in pennsylvania where it would serve as a reminder of how things used to be.

but before that would happen, the owner went outside and sat awhile, smoking and sharing a last moment with his young son in front of his diner until his beautiful wife came out and they left. though it didn't feel like it at that moment, his whole life was still ahead of him.

clearly visible, through the somewhat grimy windows, was a city where there was no longer room for a gas station or a diner or a one-story structure taking up space where a developer could build into the sky.

i paid the counter guy, who was gracious and caring, despite the fact that he no longer had to induce anyone to return, and walked out of what was now part of the workaday world but would soon be an exhibit showing the way we'd lived.

in a vanishing new york somewhere inside a lost america.

(more musings at http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer )