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On New York

 It's a special pleasure to have a fight on a street in New York City.


Yesterday, I crossed in a crosswalk--realized my directional error halfway through--and reversed course. An impatient driver honked at me.

It was at this point that my choices became sketchy. I could have floated away on a serene Mel Robbins cloud--"Let Them!" But instead, drunk with fury, I approached the windshield and waved my middle finger in the driver's face.

Naturally, the driver rolled down his window. "You're an idiot!" he screamed.

But, I too, was bubbling over with eloquence. "FUCK YOU!"

There was no beer summit--no meeting of the minds. The driver lost interest and sped away. "You're blocking the doorway!" shouted an usher--as I tried to make my way into a theater. And, later, "Do NOT stand on the stage!"

A fight is diverting--but, also, I'm happy (today) to be somewhere that is not New York.
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