Tuesday night I went out on the LES (I’ve been in that neighborhood three times in the past week, making a mental note not to do that again) and hopped on what I thought was the V. Actually, if we are to judge by the sign on the side and the conductor saying, “This is the V train to Rego Park” or whereverthefuck the V train goes, it was the V.

Instead it detoured its usual stops on the east side and its first few stops in Queens. This is unfortunate, because I live on one of those stops. I knew the moment we hit 63rd and Lex that I was doomed to ride to Jackson Heights and then double back. But I did not get off the train. (There is a reason why the tattoo on my back says “If Its Inevitable, Just Relax and Enjoy It”–I’m going back for that apostrophe soon, btw.) Instead, I rode the train back and forth through northern Queens like some hipster hobo.

Fortunately I had my friend Lizzie Skurnick’s new new new book, Shelf Discovery, with me. And it’s 400 pages long, which means that when I finally made it home, I still had 100 pages of goodness left to read. (It shocked me to discover just how many books I read as an adolescent. Page after page of “Oh, I remember that book…and that one too…I even owned that one…”, all recounted by the very talented Lizzie.

Speaking of hipster hobos, there was an entire encampment of gutter punks over by Cooper Union yesterday, “playing” “music” for money. Men, women, dogs, all performing tunelessly and without any particular devotion to their craft. They were like the post-apocalyptic Partridge Family.

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