There were no cuties on the 2 express train this evening. Is it my imagination, or does NYC get really ugly right before the barometer drops? At 7 p.m., I was sandwiched between a toothless old man holding a suspicious sippy cup as he sang the Rocky theme (#1) at the top of his lungs and a man who turned very meekly to me and asked, "Excuse me, Miss. Would you mind telling me exactly where this train is heading? I don't know where I'm going anymore." He said the Rocky theme threw him off or maybe it was the woman who had started proselytizing in the middle of the aisle with her derriere in our faces.
Is this better or worse than enduring 22 year old conversation about stalking people on Facebook? I don't really know.
Then the rains came and washed the weirdos out while I was eating enormous meatballs at Carmines. Now, after midnight, I'm looking at Alcatraz again and hoping for one thousand words added on before I sleep off those meatball calories. They sleep off, right?
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2 comments:
Great... now I've got the theme song stuck in my head. Thanks.
It also doesn't help that I live only 1/2 hour from the Philadelphia Art Museum, where the life-size bronze statue of Rocky is prominently displayed near the front steps.
"Aaaaadrianne!"
Yes, you can sleep those calories off. That is what I tell myself every night.
And: I think I'd much rather endure strangers' strangenesses. I was twenty-two once, many moons ago, and I'd rather not relive the age again, especially every day at the office. I'd much rather gripe with my thirty- and forty-something colleagues about how our bodies are breaking down little by little. That's fun!
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