Thursday, December 22, 2005


Dear God,

It's astounding how arriving at Grand Central Station at 6:15 in the evening on Day 2 of the MTA transit strike and trying to negotiate your way through the ornery huddled masses to get to a steaming pile of meat with your name on it 15 blocks away will bring out one's inner Jack from Lord of the Flies.

Tonight I almost crushed several small children and numerous angry commuters to death. And to be perfectly honest, I didn't even feel very badly about it. They were standing between me and K-Town, home of sizzling barbecued beef in a variety of shapes and sizes. And furthermore, it was quite cold outside.
I just thought you should hear it first from me.

Yours truly,


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