If I was in one of my many mandatory counseling sessions right now, my former beatnik shrink would tell me to take myself out of this situation that has potential to irritate me. Following that counsel is how-in the twist of the century-I got released from Bedford Hills Correctional early for exemplary behavior. Skinner might have smelled like moldy granola, but she did have some good advice from time to time. Skinner tell me? Don’t trade emotional currency with strangers.
I bite down on my tongue to quell the words NEEDLE DICK that want to come flying out of my mouth like darts toward a bullseye. Maybe I was just ready to look again.Ī pedestrian tries to overtake the slow walker in front of them and doesn’t quite make it in time before reaching where I stand, a roadblock dressed in black and severely lacking in anything resembling holiday spirit, thus knocking into me at full speed with his shoulder. But magic is for suckers and children, so that can’t be it. Or I would say Santa’s elves were nipping at my heels, urging me to this exact spot where I’m now standing transfixed by the giant display window outside of Vivant. If I was a girl who believed in magic, I would say there was a tingle of Christmas magic in the air that propelled me east, carrying me through the shopper’s paradise on a wintery gust of wind. I’ll never be able to explain why I deviated from my route and veered down the bustling thoroughfare of high-end shopping.
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