Post-Modern Drunk: The Crosswalks of New York
The crazies in New York City seem just a little extra crazy, these days.

Maybe it's just that time of year. What's the opposite of cabin fever? Agoramania?

I was stuck on a subway the other day, and became suddenly aware that, at that very moment, one of the two homeless/crazy guys near by had just pissed himself. The question was...which one? Neither looked the least concerned.

Could it have been someone else? Someone who looked respectable, who could teach me a lesson about judging books by their covers ("Not all crazy-looking people piss themselves in public, and not all normal looking people don't.")

This was not a lesson I wanted to learn, regardless. I got off at the next stop.

* * *

Perhaps in revenge for this slight against his comrades, an unwashed man with a beard like Alan Moore's hit me with flying chunks of frozen fruit salad yesterday as I returned from lunch. I know it was frozen because it hurt when it hit me in the calf.

I wasn't his main target, though. A business suit next to me got the brunt of it, and finally bolted across the street, to prevent Alan Moore from pursuing. Moore shouted something at the retreating figure, which I couldn't understand as I don't speak Etruscan.

I dealt with it better. I showed no response, and was eventually allowed to slip back into my rightful place amongst the undifferentiated mass of New Yorkers.

* * *

I miss biking everywhere.

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