Friday, November 24, 2017


The manager from Whole Foods, when we tried to talk to someone about our problem on the phone last night, said that if we wanted to replace the seven pound turkey we'd received with the ten pound turkey we'd ordered, we'd need to get there early. "Like, early," he emphasized when we asked for clarification.

So here I am, out at seven in the morning on Thanksgiving, happily riding my bike down to the Gowanus in the lovely, quiet, crisp air, not a soul other than me on the road.

The honk at my left shoulder comes as a bit of a shock, then, like the only car in Brooklyn hunted me down for the sole purpose of hassling me, and I pull over despite him having the entire road, and motion him past with an irritated wave.
One year ago: Suburban Apocalypse
Two years ago: Karma Leaves a Mark
Three years ago: What's Eating You?
Seven years ago: crossing paths

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