I always say that if I’m given one last experience in New York City, I want it to be Father Demo Square, at the intersection of Carmine, Bleecker and Sixth Avenue.

What I’d do first is buy my usual slice of pizza from Joe’s on the corner, then carry it over to the Square, hopefully finding open my favorite bench along Carmine and facing Sixth Avenue.

I’d sit there for as long as I felt, soaking in the scene--the endless stream of cabs, buses and delivery trucks coming up the avenue, the pedestrians walking through six different crosswalks, the old ladies crowded three to a bench swapping stories, the glut of pigeons poking at food crumbs around the light pole...

There’ve been times I’ve gone to Father Demo upset, other times just feeling lonely. It’s seen me through some of the best and the worst of New York living since I moved to the city by myself in 1999.

I remember one chilly fall night three years ago when I arrived at Father Demo about 9 in the evening after a long, unhappy day at work.

I was the only one sitting in the darkened Square--eating a slice of Joe’s--when an unshaven middle-aged guy in a worse-for-wear coat and beat-up pants pounced on the bench next to mine and nabbed a half-eaten movie-theater-sized bag of ju-jube candies that had obviously been left behind for someone just like him. He was like a seagull swooping in for his prey.

The guy quickly unraveled the bag and popped three or four candies into his mouth at once, then very casually laid down on the bench on his stomach, propping up his elbows. As he chewed away, staring only at the bag he held in front of his face, he kicked off his shoes with his feet dangling off the edge on the other end of the bench, then raised his lower legs in the air and crossed them at the ankles.

I was admiring the guy’s style, actually chuckling to myself at the sight of him making himself so completely at home, eating the candy with carefree vigor. He was oblivious to me.

About three or four minutes went by when I noticed two cops in a squad car sitting outside Joe’s. Through the dark it looked like they were studying me.

Before I knew it their red emergency lights we’re on and rolling and the two cops were on foot, heading straight for me. I thought, “What is this?!”

“Good evening,” they both said to me in friendly tones, then proceeded to inform the guy with the candy that lying down on the bench was strictly forbidden and he would have to leave.

They stood beside him as he slowly got up and then sat down to put his shoes back on.

Just like that, the three of them were gone, the guy going his way and the cops returning to their car. I was back to being alone in the dark Square, no longer able to enjoy myself.

On one of my last visits to Father Demo this past summer, I met Philip, an older gentleman sitting alone on the next bench. Philip was wearing white shoes, white socks, white Bermuda shorts, a white short-sleeved shirt and a white sea captain’s hat. He looked like George Burns from the movie, “Oh, God!”

Philip had just recovered from major surgery and was contemplating hip replacement surgery. He held a cane.

At one point, he said to me, looking for a response, “The question is whether life is to be enjoyed or endured?”

I remember answering something like, “A lot depends on where you think you’re going when you die.”

A while later, Philip observed, “As long as you talk a tough game, you have the respect of others, whether you deserve it or not.”

Philip was amused by me telling him I quit my job to write about the Bible. He warned me sarcastically, “Just because it’s printed doesn’t mean it’s true.”

I remember saying something back like, “Well, I agree. The great thing about the Bible is it proves it’s true by the truth of what it says.”

Philip and I must have talked a half-hour when I told him I had to be going. I said as I was leaving, “This sure was an unexpected pleasure. I hope we see each other again some time.”

He gave me a sly smile, saying cleverly, “If we do, it will be a miracle.” I knew he was teasing me and we both looked at each other fondly, smiling broadly.

About a month later I was in Village with my sister and niece, visiting from Ohio, and took them to Joe’s for pizza. It was cold and drizzly outside so we didn’t go to the Square to eat ate our slices, we just stood at a table inside.

Just as we exited, Philip appeared out of nowhere. We shook hands and I immediately reminded him, “You said it would be a miracle.” He laughed in acknowledgement.

My sister, who had been taking sightseeing pictures since she arrived, told Philip she wanted to get a shot of the two of us. My niece got in the picture too. Father Demo was in the background.