My OCD, the Subway, and Me

Every day, on the way to work, I pass by a subway ad for “Four Christmases”.

It is April 3rd.

It hurts my brain. Enough already.

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My last night in my sublet on S. 3rd and Havemeyer, I overheard this exchange in the street. Directly in front of my, thankfully, newly vacated apartment.

OLDER PUERTO RICAN: Hey man, you know Chico?

YOUNGER PUERTO RICAN: Yeah, man.

OLDER PUERTO RICAN: He just got cut. The ambulance took him away.

YOUNGER PUERTO RICAN: Oh really?

OLDER PUERTO RICAN: Yeah! There’s still blood on the sidewalk, man!

YOUNGER PUERTO RICAN: Cool! I’m gonna go see. Thanks!

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Craig: Elizabeth said how much she loved your beard when we were reading your blog together this afternoon.

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Me: Let’s make lobster bisque!

Leon: Oh my god! I love lobster when it’s not in a lobster!

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“Cool shirt. Are you a hipster now?”

“No. I don’t like labels.”

“You’re a hipster.”

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“It’s not over until the fat lady sings… or dies.”

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“I’m gonna get gastric bypass surgery.”

“Cheater.”

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“I love the smell but hate the taste. Like gasoline.”

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“Don’t worry. We fought over gchat, so it wasn’t real.”