Um yeah. So there I am on the A train, heading home from a work at about 8:30pm, minding my own business reading Vogue (Michelle Obama!). At about 168th Street I caught a whiff of smoke. I looked up and what did I see? Well, thanks to my stealthy photog skillz you can see for yourself.
Yup, that's right. Homeboy toooootally smoking a spliff on a reasonably crowded train. Not a care in the world. The most special moment was when the sufficiently happy houred girl next to him convinced him to share...
and proceeded to pass it around to all her buddies.
Only in NYC.
Well the real question is what else did he share with her after he got off the train............. HA.
Why wasn't I on that train?!?
It's true. Only warm, lovely people share their subway spliffs with strangers. I heart NYC.
People who have never been think of New Yorkers as pushy, cold people. But pushy cold people don't pass a joint around the train.
Hahaha! Happy houred. And why do people not have standards on the train? Sharing some random guy's spliff?? No no no. I don't even do that at a concert. Only God knows what's percolating in that dude's mouth.
I really don't understand stuffed olives in a martini. It obviously isn't an issue with my sophistication (right, guys? right? heh heh). I guess I just don't like olives. No dirty martinis for me either. But the girly martinis are too easy to drink. They're evil.
Hmmm you may be the next best blog. Awesome!
Yeah, that's right. I used "happy hour" as a verb.