Signs of Summer: True Pre-Date Story of a Dancing Girl, a Bitchy Literary Celebrity, Assault with a Shoulder Bag and Confidence Inspired by a Junkie
On the speeding number 4 train a little girl in beaded braids did the moonwalk off balance up and down the aisle and cackled defiantly while her mother or someone like her screamed at her to sit down and stop fooling around.
At the outdoor food court near City Hall where I get my morning plug-in, a man who I'm certain was Jonathan Safran Foer was on his cell phone and freaking out over having to wait for his order. "Bagel-toasted-melted-muenster? I'm still waiting?" he called out over my shoulder to the Mexicans at the grill. They assured him it was coming and looked at him like he was insane. "Yeah. It's coming," the novelist's look-alike hissed into his cell phone. "Meanwhile, they've taken three other people's orders. I have to be on the air in twenty minutes, mm'kay?"
Walking from the food court to my office a large black woman in strappy sandals and a barely-there leopard print mistake hustled by me. She nearly knocked me over with her colossal shoulder bag filled with what must have been several fashion magazines and a huge baby.
Not a minute later an aging blonde man with skeletal eyes that said I've just come from the methadone clinic whispered in my ear as he shuffled by me. "You have beautiful feet." I'm glad he said that because I think I have a date tonight and when I left the house this morning, I wasn't sure about these shoes.
