Kingdom

Whenever there is a foul homeless man who is like, wearing a taco shell and burping up blood, my fellow commuters gently squeeze me in his direction until I am sitting in his lap and telling him what I want for Christmas. Today's vagrant du jour smelled like the rancid tuna mac I threw away on Wednesday. By the time we got to Union Square, after everyone kept nudging me his way, we started making out.

I hate Fridays. This isn't the first time I've said this. High expectations combined with an uncanny knack for Friday bad luck make me never TGIF.

This crabby post reminds me of a new favorite website. Bye.