Dear NYC,

I just saw an orange-haired woman calmly striding down Wall St. She walked with her arms behind her back and her index fingers looped together. The day is so grey and cold that I was instantly struck with how vulnerable she was making herself by walking through your streets that way. As quickly as that thought crossed my mind, it was countered with the thought that she probably felt free.

Have a great weekend,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

"When all of life is a blur, you are my truest definition"

Thanks for that.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

I'm curious about too short people, specifically of the gentle kind, who wear too short pants.

Also, I was laughing to myself today because I remembered when you mentioned how funny it was that one could go days or weeks without having seen his or her own butt. So true!

I miss your voice.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

Holy smokes! It's been a long time.

I'm writing to talk about double-standards.

I find it both repulsive and curious when a grown man brushes (with a brush) his hair in public.

I find it endearing and appropriate when a woman brushes blush across her cheeks on a commuter train.

Best to you,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

From the maple syrup melodies
to the cacophonic tones
She's the foremost inspiration
to pen a story of my own.

Thank you Miss Merchant. And thank you, NYC, for having her.

Respectfully,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

An unsent letter from July:

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Dear NYC,
Today, it was 107 degrees in your subway tunnels. While I stood on the platform waiting for the 1 train, I remembered that my underwear were patterned with images of Christmas trees.
I win.

Happy Holidays,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

This morning, while making my daily jaunt across the threshold from eager to jaded, I mistakenly used my debit card to gain access through the subway turnstile. After my body slammed into the crossbar, which subsequently caused a five-commuter pile up behind me-I furrowed my brow, took a step back and swiped it again. My debit card. And again, slammed my body into the crossbar- this time in defiance of the reality of the situation. You see, NYC, I filled my MetroCard yesterday so I knew it wasn't my fault. I looked to the little "turnstile-swipe window thing" for some kind of clue as to what was going on. You know the one that tells you: 'insufficient fare' or 'please swipe at this turnstile again' or 'yo mamma's so fat..' The window was blank-no words of wisdom to guide me through the situation.
Long story short, by the time I figured out that I'm an idiot-all the commuters at the turnstile had vacated but one. I looked at the lady behind me, and because she was older and drew her own eyebrows on her head, I figured she would be kind enough to pardon me for my mistake. In other words, I walked blindly into a commuter trap. I lifted my debit card in the air, gave a chuckle and said "whoops". You know what she did, NYC? She did nothing-just looked at me with stale eyes and coffee lips, void of emotion. I quickly stepped out of her way and fished in my bag for the correct form of entry. To prove that I was no subway beginner, I caught up to eyebrow lady on the platform and made sure she saw as I stepped to the platform's edge, craned myself sideways, and peered down the tunnell to see if the train was coming. Then I turned to her gave her a right good stink eye.

The end.

The Woobs