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And now the latest from The Aftermath in New York City as it Affects My Life Personally:

Okay, so I got in late this morning. I slept a little longer than I should've. Big whoop. I take three trains to get to work. The second is the 6, from Broadway-Lafayette to the Brooklyn Bridge. (You stalkers taking notes out there?) Shortly before the train arrived at its last stop, it just... well, it stopped. And it sat there. And sat there. As I was sitting near the front next to the conductor's chamber I could hear him quite well inside, saying things like, "Could you repeat that? I think I ate that transmission" and "How long?" Then the automated computer-voice message came over the loudspeaker, nice and clearly (I love these new-fangled subway cars),

We apologize for the unavoidable delay.

Then we sat.

Finally he conductor came out of his little box, shrugged at us. "They found some powder at 77th street."

Some murmuring.

"Shouldn't be too long." Back into the box.

More murmuring.

"Our bosses will have to get used to our being late," said one guy.
"Yeah," said another guy. "I wish they'd go back to regular crime."
"The good old days," laughed a lady.
"With this and the bomb scares..."
"Yeah, there was a bomb scare at my office yesterday. Got in two hours late."
"They found powder at my work, too. Practical joke. Guy got his ass fired."

Etc, etc. This is life now. Fucking assholes laying down fake powder, and of course we can't not take anything seriously because people have died from anthrax. Or was it just that one guy? Anyhow, yikes. Whatever.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:28 AM | shower me with attention