Storm coming

Those who die young usually seem to have something to say, or have an issue with the day. Question portly men in dark uniform, right away. 



Arrange so for me, anyway. 



Some weird things are happening before my eyes and ears, in my cocooned existence.

Here's a short list: 

This week, a crane mistakenly crashed a ton of bricks, onto a pedestrian pathway, right where I go to lunch in SoHo most days, on time and on the spot. My footprint is usually there every day on the dot. It was on the news. People injured, people dead. I weirdly stayed home with a rabid cough in my comfy bed. I feel much better now, thank you.


This week my wired-into-the-world smoke detector went off because my neighbor burned a piece of meat. Nothing like trying to chill out after 2 hours of commuting, 10 hours of work, then 2 hours of commuting like a loud, static blast of unstoppable smoke detector to sooth the soul. Lefty, my cat, spent the next hour squatting over his litter box with a look of fear.

This week I got onto the train just as the cops were beating someone to dry blood five seats in front of me; in front of a mom and her Disney-dressed little human princess. I've said it before - people with shiny badges feel enabled to be psychotic.

Why do some cops say they promote good for all if they scream the word “fuck” as often as possible while whipping unconvicted men in front of an audience that includes 8-year old girls? 



She cried so hard. 



How will this incident affect this girl down the road? Other than the idea that she might associate the word fuck with abhorrent violence and vulgarity. 



Scary things loom.