mcnally jackson

 

leaving mcnally jackson with the sam pink book I stole in my chest pocket, felt nice to feel young again, and a great breeze for me and everyone I’m sharing the sidewalk with to share. “want some food?” “what?” “we got a bag of like sandwiches, bagels,...” “oh, uh sure, I mean maybe you should ask this dude.” I point to a homeless seeming guy. “hey, sir,” the kids sound european or something, “you want sandwich, a baguette, croissant?” “I’ll take a bagel.” “woah,” I go, “you don’t want the sandwich? cuz I’ll take it if you don’t want it.” “well, what’s in the sandwich?” the two europeans say in unison, “it’s crab.” “I’m good, thanks.” “here’s your sandwich,” they try giving it to me. “I don’t really want it either. I mean, is it good?” “it’s pretty good.” “okay, I guess,” and I walked down broadway eating this warm crab sandwich.