Life in this here city.

Last week I was walking through Grand Central relatively late at night, on my way down to the subway. There was a rough looking guy in a wheelchair. Although he had two legs, he also had a prosthetic leg on his lap and a duffel bag. As I passed him, he called out to me, "Can you push me? Hey, can you push me? You look like a strong woman!"

I didn't look back, but I started giggling, probably because I had been out drinking with my beloved German of the Month who had made a short visit to the States with his fiancee to attend a wedding (Yeah, that's right, GOTM, I called her your fiancee. What are you going to do about it?)

When I got on the subway, I saw a short man with a shaved head. He was completely bald, except for a square 5 inch X 5 inch shaggy patch in the back. It was so thick compared to the waxed bald skin it was surrounded by, it almost looked like a doormat. Shaved into the square patch of hair were the letters "PR". He looked so ridiculous I wanted to catch someone else's eye on the train to share a laugh, but I didn't and that maybe wasn't such a good idea anyway. I just figured that's how this guy rolls 365, but then someone pointed out to me that he may have been getting ready for th Puerto Rican Day Parade this weekend.

Before I made it home, I encountered a subway preacher, fair to screaming about finding Jesus and turning his life around after he was shot in the chest. Then he started talking about what an abomination gay marriage was. I put my hands over my ears.

Say, does anyone want to come to my house and iron my shirts?