This morning while walking through Port Authority someone tapped me on the shoulder. Which I ignored, because that is what you do when you're in the realm of crazy people that is the bus terminal. *Tap Tap* again. I turn around. The woman informs me that my dress is on inside out. I sheepishly thank her and run to the restrooms to switch it right side out. I check to make sure I am wearing undergarments and shoes and that there's nothing in my teeth and head out into the madness that is 42nd street and 8th avenue and pray that I 1.) don't get hit by a cab, 2.) don't get shat on by those pigeons on the northwest corner, and 3.) that the "mystery water" than just landed on my shoulder was from an air conditioner...please!
Ah, New York. I'm never moving.
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