Friday, June 20, 2008

Dear NYC,

CC: American Psycho looking guy who sat across from me on the LIRR.

Just because YOUR eyes are closed when you scratch your balls, doesn't mean that MINE don't see you doing it.

I also want to wish you the best with that incessant foot-tapping. Clearly, you were put on this earth so someone (I don't know who) can punch you in the face.

The Woobs

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Dear NYC,

As I approached a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk, I reached into my bag and pulled out a leftover peach to place in his soiled hand. As he smiled and blessed me, I hesitated before telling him that the fruit was unwashed. Then I marched myself directly into a cement wall. Twice.

Love,
The Woobs

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Dear NYC,

I was sitting on a park bench eating a ham sandwich, when I noticed that the woman sitting across from me was nearing the end of a novel; mouth agape, eyeballs frantic. She only had a small pinch of pages left, so I waited for her to finish because I wanted to see the expression on her face when she turned the back-cover closed. While I waited and chewed, I thought about the emotions I conjure when reaching the end of a novel, and concluded that it's usually a melancholy experience. I re-focused on my lunchtime friend, who was now tracing the words line by line with her finger. Seeing her do this made me feel anxious with anticipation. I suddenly felt unprepared to see the effects of a story's end happen across her face. I didn't want to be the first representation of 'real' when her glance left her lap. I quickly gathered my belongings and hurried along leaving her in rapture. When I got several steps away I turned to look back and saw as she sneezed into the book's open pages. I sighed relief and continued back to work, saved.

The Woobs