The Gays and the Jewish Media
The car was mostly empty. A few solo riders in the front half, and a family in the back. No security or ticket-takers.
The car was mostly empty. A few solo riders in the front half, and a family in the back. No security or ticket-takers.
You don’t talk to people on the Metro. You don’t talk to coworkers, you don’t talk to friends, and you especially don’t talk to strangers. Talking is the mark of the tourist.
I discovered the other side of recorded music. The side we didn’t talk about in Professor Nordling’s class, and the side that makes recorded music even more challenging, I think, than live music.
But this is efficient, I tell myself. Hot food requires a stove, and a stove requires money, and I am a sophomore trying to backpack Europe on a budget. Food seemed like the best place to cut corners.
Sleep isn’t all that important if it comes at that rate. A night that costs more than thirty bucks is a night that would be better spent wandering around the streets killing time until sunrise.
Orderly mobs with agendas of social change and economic prosperity flowed around me, people branded with “D.C. haircuts” and business casual.
The first of Adalbert Waffling’s Fundamental Laws of Magic: “Tamper with the deepest mysteries—the source of life, the essence of self—only if prepared for consequences of the most extreme and dangerous kind.”
In case my brother dies before me, he and I have already planned his funeral.