With this in mind, since it’s been a disappointing election, I just GOTTA get into this party. The Letitia James one. I rushed back to it. No missed hot dogs for me in 2013.
Pulsations from inside pulsate me, but in place, not toward the entry. I’m goin’ up and down, not to or fro.
Fro is a possibility, though, bro. Thing is, I’m scared, not scared for my life, scared of being embarrassed. Every time I get a certain distance from the door, I can go no further. There are big, black guys in big, black suits outside, meant to be intimidating, I guess, and they intimidated me. They look like the guys who won’t let you (me) into a club because you’re (I’m) not cool enough.
They had guys like that a couple of months ago outside Long Island College Hospital, a hospital the state was trying to close so they could sell the land for condos. The hospital, by court order, was open, but they put those guys there to scare people, so they wouldn’t go in, so they’d feel insufficiently cool to get medical attention. If I were having a heart attack and that was the only hospital I could get to, I would surely die.
And, get this, it was a hospital Leticia James was at the forefront of trying to keep open. Maybe she hired those guys for her party as make-good for putting them out of work when she and de Blasio saved the hospital.
By the way, I know of at least 3 people who saw those guys outside the hospital and thought someone was having a dance party there. (My brain, in its best Belushi “food fight” voice is screaming, “HOSPITAL DANCE PARTY!!!!!!!!”)