Wednesday morning Dawg drove me to the station that lets me catch the F train. When I got on there were no seats so I grabbed the pole. And then I caught out of the corner of my eye a man standing up, thus giving up a perfectly good seat. I thought, “score!” and then I thought, “hmm, I wonder why he gave it up” so I did my NYC casual observation of the situation out of the corner of my eye and there underneath the bench was an entire chicken dinner — a drumstick, a breast on the bone, and a few sides on a styrofoam plate. I sat down and inhaled to see if perhaps the smell had offended the man, but I smelled nothing. So, I pulled an Aunt Edna and ate my bologna sandwich.

Figuratively. I did not eat the chicken dinner. Stop being ridiculous.

On the way home I got a seat on the E train! Nothing eventful about that other than I got the seat and then the entire car filled up every square inch with people. Since I was trying to read my Triangle book I was very happy I got that seat.

Did you know every day I look on the subway track for my friends, the rats? I love to watch them scurry around. I dunno, it’s something to pass the time. And I like rats. I know you don’t like them, you’ve told me already. Why should I have to hold back my affinity for The Rat just because you aren’t accepting of all creatures on this planet? (Well, yah, it’s ok for you to hate the mosquitoes, but anything else? c’mon!)

Here’s something that has nothing to do with the subway:

That’s me at age 4 looking disturbingly patriotic underneath my blankie, taking a nap next to my dad’s woodstove. I looooooooove falling asleep to the ambient heat of a fire.