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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?!
B: YOU READIN' COMIC?
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.
