Dear Schizophrenic Weather,
You bring out the very worst in NY’s worst dressed. Damn you and this week’s explosion of undergarments, midriffs and boobs. My eyes are bleeding.
The girl who will be hibernating until fall
Dear Subway WiFi,
I can’t decide how I feel about you. You are only reliable below 100th street (minus Penn Station, which is some kind of nasty dead zone), and I’m afraid you’re going to be more trouble than you’re worth. Still, you did save me that one morning I was stuck on the train and let me text my bosses…
Wishing and hoping,
Dear Angry Business Man,
You are the reason the new subway wifi makes me want to punch kittens and kick puppies sometimes. I do not need to listen to you yell at your assistant for 130 blocks at 9AM on a Monday. Wait 20 minutes and yell at him/her in person. It’s much more effective.
Seething with rage (and pity for the poor bloke on the other end of the phone),
I’ve heard rumors of your greatness, but I have yet to hop on the C train and claim you as my own.
Soon, my friend. Very soon.
Looking forward to our seven minutes in heaven,
Dear La Guardia,
Why do you not have a train that can take me directly to you?
(Also, why do you suck in general?)
A humble traveler
Dear Spray Paint Artist Man Outside the Olive Garden in Times Square,
Will you marry me?
Mrs. Spray Paint Artist Man
Dear Jacob’s Pickles,
If I ever decide to commit a terrible crime, you will be my death row meal.
Still full two weeks later,