But the weirdest thing was...
On the way home from the gym I saw, in the gutter at the corner of State and Clinton, a half eaten yam, teeth marks all around the jagged edge.
It was uncooked. Hard as a rock. I know: I tapped it with my foot just to be sure.
On the way home from the gym I saw, in the gutter at the corner of State and Clinton, a half eaten yam, teeth marks all around the jagged edge.
It was uncooked. Hard as a rock. I know: I tapped it with my foot just to be sure.
posted by Minerva Jane at
9:19 PM
5 Comments:
i feel like you (and by you, i mean the collective you) get to see so many fascinating things in new york... maybe that's why writers migrate there...
The thought of that yam made me very sad.
should we make art of it? :) and/or I bet it has a story.
actually, would have made a great art piece. I should have nailed it to a red-painted piece of plywood and called it "This Is Not A Yam."
:-)
This made me feel sad too.
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