1. old habits, spoken in disembodied cat head voice, for what has to be the tenth time this summer: "Why die hard when you can live forever?" We'll see who's laughing next weekend, won't we.
2. stepping out of the Bergen Street subway station, forever home of at least subconscious Jacob's Ladder references & subsequent fear of vacant-faced demons piloting stray trains that just happen to run me over, a nervous-looking middle-aged guy with a reporter's notebook approaches me. "I'm writing a book about work. Are you just getting home from work?"
I was tempted to ask him exactly how the entire subject of Work was to fit in a single volume but just cheerily replied that no, I am very much unemployed, just like everyone else in this city, & he smiled. "That makes two of us!"
3. just as I'm starting to think hey, maybe I should get out more, this isn't so bad, I catch some scurrying crackhead on Atlantic Avenue with his hand literally centimeters away from the hole in the top of my purse from which this industrious fuck thinks he's about to retrieve my wallet. He hasn't been informed of the eyes in the back of my head & when I turn my head to catch his face practically in my fucking armpit he gets all wide-eyed & scurries away, as much as one can Scurry when dragging a giant fucking black duffel bag probably missing its old days of being stuffed with body parts as the possession of a far more interesting criminal than this tool.
4. what's with the numbers?
5. they say count to ten if you feel you're about to do something you regret.
6. your constant references to "they" could easily have you mistaken for a paranoid, delusional freak. & let's not get started on your appearance.
7. let's not take that village voice photo as representative of what I actually look like, ok.
8. can I just do something I regret now, without having to count to ten?