THE REAL WORLD?

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...