The Big Onion

Day one of the New York experiment.

I've been keeping my eye out for signs. Am I on the right track here, was moving from Boston to New York a good idea, have I displeased the deities, have I innocently flapped the butterfly wings that will lead to catastrophic results further downwind, that sort of thing.

So far the unsupervised annoying wriggling kid seated next to me on the Chinatown bus puked up his cranberry juice at my feet. A little got on my bag. It's a classy way to enter a new city with stomach acid scars on your bag. Then there was a flash thunderstorm over Astoria that lasted all of five minutes, while the sun never stopped shining, which gave the effect of one of those old solemn religious paintings. Afterwards venders in the street were standing ankle-deep in water as they grumpily packed up their wares. Finally, back at the pad, a glass of 7-Up spontaneously cracked of its own accord with a sharp "pop," but held its contents. Unsure of what had happened I lifted the glass, resulting in a puddle of 7-Up. I suspect either poltergeists or telekinetic tomfoolery.

We're off to a baffling start.