I work in New York City. It's full of nutters. Go figure.

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

Wednesday September 1st

I didn't go into the city yesterday. I was sick, so the only interesting thing I saw was my bedroom, which, frankly, is in need of a good tidy-up.

This morning the woman at the newspaper stand told me I was looking pretty. It was nice of her but I was unconvinced, as I was well aware that my skirt doesn't fit properly, this top is dull and my little cardigan is not just five, but ten whole minutes ago. And my hair is limp. But then, it's always limp. But still, maybe she thought I needed a boost, looking this bad.

The men with machine guns weren't there this morning. I guess they know something I don't. Like, that terrorists don't attack on Wednesday mornings. Or maybe they were off shooting crusties at Madison Square Gardens. I felt disinctly less nervous, though. Perhaps because when they give me those evil suspicious looks I feel the urge to confess, confess, confess. Not sure what I'm supposed to confess, but I want to throw myself on their mercy anyway. Nuns have the same effect on me.

7 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Tell 'em you like it up the arse.

maccers

1:25 PM

 
Blogger euro said...

This is my confession, not yours. For once, this is not actually about you.

1:29 PM

 
Anonymous Anonymous said...

WRONG.

It's always about me.

maccers

1:31 PM

 
Blogger euro said...

Fuck off and stop following me, or I'll ban you.

1:52 PM

 
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Because that of course is the first rule. Never follow Eurotrash.

Duly noted.

Maccers

2:21 PM

 
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Catfight. Sweet.

9:37 AM

 
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