[Sorry I haven’t posted in a bit. I guess I was waiting for the proverbial mooood to strike. But seein’ that it’s been over a week and nothing has struck, I will man-up and force the issue. Calling writer Pance. Come in, writer Pance.]
I ran errands in the city this past Saturday, which included a stop at Sur la Table in SoHo. I loathe SoHo. On any given weekend its itty-bitty sidewalks and cobblestone streets swarm with B&Ters and multiple-bag toting annoyanites. I got off the F train at Broadway/Lafayette knowing full well the whole time my body instinctively moved toward Broadway, I should be choosing to walk down empty, unassuming Crosby St. instead. Both roads lead to Sur la Table in equal measure, one would just be deemed more, in driver speak, “the back way.” Boiling with frustration, haste and ILiveHere entitlement, I think I bowled over 3 sauntering shoppers and yelled “MOVE FASTER” to at least one.
Just because I don’t have a car, doesn’t mean I don’t suffer *the rage*. In NYC it just manifests itself on the sidewalks as opposed to the roads. Hmmmm, if I only had a horn.