I love it when I run into one of those really old ladies that has lived in New York for so long and has never lost her spunk. You know those feisty women that flip off people and curse at speeding taxis even though they look like Granny. I love those ladies. I aspire to be them only without those ridiculous wire pushcarts filled with the day’s errands. I’d rather be too drunk at the races betting on a sure thing.
On another note, if I live through today, I’m going to develop a Southern Belle accent and ask things like, “Are you going to bring me my lemon, or do I have to squeeze it from my hat?” You know, just for the sheer insanity of it all.