This work week has been trying to say the least with canceled shifts, computer malfunctions, and Republicans in general. Also the Democrats...you know what? I hate them all (Disney Princesses should not become political analysis) but the piña colada made it all okay (well, almost).
It wasn't the piña colada itself, I've been drinking them since I was old enough to reach the blender, it was the way in which said piña colada was acquired. Men in dark corners slipping dubious vials to questionable maidens before rushing off into the night...(my co-worker brought me a drink because I challenged him to).
Anyway, point is, I'd had a hell of a week and a clandestine alcoholic beverage in my bag and all I had to do to exchange one for the other was grab a seat on the 4. The entire population of Iowa and Wisconsin stopping dead center in the sidewalk to take pictures of badly costumed characters, getting caught up in the bright lights of the big city, while I dodge them in pursuit of my drink. I am seconds from the Times Sq subway entrance when I feel it...the rumble in the pit of my stomach.
It occurs to me that I haven't eaten all day, with the exception of half a donut and some coffee. I took the black tumbler out of my bag and inhaled, strong! This on an empty stomach probably wouldn't be the best idea. Ugh! Food! Now! Where? Where? Hot dog stand? The guy manning it has green gloves. Somehow I don't think it's a fashion statement. Where the hell am I gonna....MickeyDs. Why not. It's fast, it's food (sort of).
I enter McDonald's which has apparently become pizza planet with none of the charm. Order kiosks, one dimensional characters, lighting that could land a 747, what did I used to love about this place again? A kid ran by pulling a cheap piece of plastic out of a happy meal box. Sigh. If only happiness still came out of a box. Oh wait, now it comes out of a bottle, or, more to the point, a black thermos. Now, on to the 4 train...