Thursday, May 31, 2007

Doing almost anything in New York is dangerous. For example, making a lunch trip to Taco Bell - what should be a delicious and refreshingly familiar experience turns into a huge mind fuck. I'm enjoying an e-coli free gordita when a homeless man makes his hourly rounds pleading for "juzzaquaterr".

B: Can I git juzzaquaterr?
T: Sorry man.

Let me stop right here. Way does "man" always seem to come out in these situations? Do I feel as if I'm really letting him know I understand his struggle with my verbal pat on the back? It's already awkward.

B: Heh. Wuzzthat? Youkeemkiddencheeeraaeden?
T: What?!
T: Yes.
B: How old are you?
T: 24.

Ok, I'm pissed.

B: Heh, don't want never grow up, huh?
T: Yeah fuck it right? What's the point??

Now am I going to defend myself to a man who's dressed in everything that he owns? Yeah, I fucked up. I should have been drinking my Mountain Dew with my pinky up whilst reading the Wall Street Journal.

Minutes later I'm on the 6 train and I have a conversation with an amazing young man (decked out in a XXL ROH t-shirt, black UFOs, and top it all off with a black Jansport complete with a Straight Edge patch pinned on) about how Preacher is the best comic ever, the miniseries, and introduced me to The Boys.

So, you know, good with the bad.


ryan said...

fire sauce

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