Today’s post brought to you by despair
Yesterday was busy. Work was hectic.
Aside from my appointment yesterday afternoon taking longer than I anticipated, things went well. I managed to hand off the title for my car, so once I get a bill of sale written up, it is gone forever from my name.
Yew Haloo, as they say on Mary Poppins.
Any way, milling around after just missing my train last night, I ran into two women who were very lost. Between the two of them, they spoke what amounted to (perhaps) the English of a 3 year old whose head was crushed by a pair of ineptly wielded fence-post pliers. After a bit of work, it became clear that they were trying to get to South Jersey by bus, and that they were looking for Port Authority.
They were in the wrong, county, much less the wrong borough.
I had just missed the train, and it was going to be another hour before the next one, unless I took a local. I made a fast call to information, then Port Authority, and found out that there was no human way they were making their bus via mass transit that night. It was already 10 and change, and the last bus out was at quarter to midnight, which was well after they would have made it to Port Authority, if I could have actually explained to them how to get there.
The girls were worried that the train station was unsafe, and followed me around like ducklings after a stray cat the whole time I was pacing on the phone. One of the girls, Isabella, asked me to get on the phone with her beau a few times, but every time she handed me the phone, he would hang up.
At any rate, decisive action was needed. I had them change in their train tickets, and we split a cab down to the city. I managed to haggle the cab driver down to 30 for me, and 15 for them, after he dropped me off. They seemed amenable to this plan, and the cab driver actually cut all of us a break by the end of it. As I was trying to explain to them what they needed to do once they got to Port Authority, he realized I was being a good samaratin, and said he would do thirty for the whole shot, so I gave him the 30, and told them to give him a few dollars for tip when he got them to Port Authority. Hopefully, they were not sold as human slaves.
Just as we were leaving the Bronx, my cab driver, Gregory Matthison, asked me if I had Jesus in my soul, as if that explained my actions somehow. I told him that my soul had a big neon no vacancy sign. He started to Preach the Word™ , and i told him that he could abandon all hope of tip if he kept it up. The rest of the cab ride was broken Spanish from the back, low jazz from some AM station, and me looking all about as we approached the city from a vector I had previously never come before. Gregory spoke no Spanish, and smelt faintly of licorice.
I made it home in excellent time. I can only assume my co-passengers, whose lost way I paid for the most part, made it to their destination as well. I hope they did, because if not, they are still wandering around midtown on the West Side, or, as I said above, were sold to some group of religious fanatics as slaves.
In totally unrelated news,
Steven Segal needs to contract rampant incurable cancer.
This collection really wowed me. I love Japan, I love Polaroids, just…damn.
Better than this collection due to thoughtful emotional provocation, but not as picturesque throughout.