hey gang,
actual:
today i went for a run in NY on my down time between trains. Not in the mood to play in traffic I headed esat on 43 to 1st and crossed over to the east river path from 38th and headed down toward the brooklyn bridge.
groovin' to Richard Ashcroft on the "pod" pretty loud, but not loud enough to muffle the sound of Trump. My ears pricked up like an obedient disciple; i look to my left and flying north on the FDR(I was down around houston) a guy goes by on a beautiful black standard bonnie.
I smiled that, "i knew it, i'm so smug," smile and continued on my way.
i didn't make it as far as the brooklyn bridge, had to turn around a couple of blocks shy of the manhattan bridge in order to make it back to the job on time, but the sun was shining, the music was great and the sound of british thunder a song to my soul .
literay:
i'm reading a weird book. TC Boyle's WORLD'S END. on p. 166 this is what i stumble upon(this portion of the book takes place in 1970):
"No, Walter had said, almost as a reflex, no thanks, already seeing himself in a dress shirt and tie, ensconsed behind a desk with the elusive Miss Egthuysen at his beck and call, Doug and the rest if the peons cut down in a single stroke, already picturing the new Triumph, racing green, wire wheels, zero to fifty in 6.9 seconds..." 
mert
