Returning the the moving sardine can interior that is Manhattan, today I came to realize that the civilized environment I now work in probably won't be as interesting to write about as the barbecue joint, what with it being a laid-back design firm as opposed to a strange crossroads of a remote neighborhood infested with gypsies, cokeheads, drunken nymphomaniacs, twenty-four-hour-a-day alkies, potheads, local trash, and the criminally insane. That kind of workplace only comes along once in a blue moon, and it was perfect grist for the blog mill, but things at the design firm are simply a job, therefore not of much interest to the reader who expects tales of debauchery and sleaziness. Sorry...
But maybe the used maxi-pad that greeted me as I entered the R train on my way home and looked like it had been used to sop up a werewolf attack was a sign of lurid yarns to come. One can only hope...
2 comments:
The new job may not have the crazy people that the old one did but the subway always has the crazies.
oh gross... i don't miss the train. I'll never forget the shit streaked 6 on my way home from work one eve. I mean shit streaked... everywhere. Someone put in a lot of time & effort on that one.
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