This may become a feature…we’ll see. But it’s dawned on me, though making copious mental notes of all I see, I’m not always quick on the draw dialogue wise, wading through and wasting, some of the best lines overheard ever.
On my way to work, I was accompanied by a couple on the corner waiting for the light to change. They were obviously tourists the way they were dressed. She in a short, short black leather skirt two sizes too small for a rather beefy bod, beneath a massive orange and navy polka-dotted sweater…boots…a brown leather vest. The guy, who looked like a terrified Iggy Pop…skinny…greasy hair with his hands dug so deep into his jean pockets he could have disappeared right into the sewer. Not that I blamed him, she scared the shit out of me too the way she was carrying on.
Couldn’t quite figure out why she was so mad since I missed the first act, but her finale hit a grand slam.
As we crossed East 79th, walking backwards like a coked up Navy Seal, she made a fist, aimed it at Iggy and said…
“Ah ate yooo…yooo, stu-ped mutha-fooker ax-cuse fa a luva (here it comes)…
If ya wa a fooken fia…ah woo-den poot ya ah-oot.”