My eight-minute commute was unusually eventful. As I walked up the street, I smelled fish. Rank, dead fish. Remind me not to order sushi from the place on my street.
Then, a limo driver almost ran me over in a crosswalk. Like any New Yorker, I raised my arms and yelled at him. And like any driver, he promptly ignored me. I didn't use the F word. Next time.
And then right after that, two little Evil Knievels on those damn scooters zipped in front of me. They had their maneuvers choreographed. There was even a script. Their mom was walking leisurely behind them with a big smile on her face. She must have realized how close she was to dropping them off at school.