Ridng on the MTA: Got K's coffee, tucked her into a cab, walked up to Grand Central (everything in NYC is up-, mid-, down-, east or west; no north no south) and jumped into the first train that pulled into the station. See, I had a 50-50 chance that it would take me north. As reported separately, I soon found that it took only two consecutive wrong transfers to end up visiting distant, strange lands peopled with colorful, exotic persons speaking in strange tongues. This visit was accompanied by strange smells, two instances of abject terror and one straightforward but unappealing proposition.
Later that same day, recounting my harrowing experience, it was brought to my attention that even a cursory glance at the subway map might have precluded the Stage Nine Pucker Factor. Monday morning quarterback.
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1 comment:
If you can >bang bang< make it there, you'll make it >bang bang< anywhere, it's up to you, New Yorrrrrk, Neeeew York!!!
Mom seems pleased with her knock off Louis Vuitton bags. Well done, Smyles.
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