About 3 or 4 years ago I was working in Brooklyn doing renovations and the like. For about three days, over portions of Manhattan and the *ahem* outer boroughs, a delicious smell prompted calls to 311 (and ridiculously, 911). The debate is still on to what the smell precisely resembled. Some say pancake syrup, others fresh baked cinnamon buns. That's irrelevant. I was mostly amused by the very fact that people were getting stress out about it. Besides the question of who the considerate terrorist is that unleashed pleasantly scented poisoned gas, I want to know why I live in a city where a good number of residents become concerned when the air starts to smell pleasant. Poison me with syrup fumes, and I shall die with a smile on my face.
Apparently the smell was floating around again late last night. Mark my words, in 10 years all those who sniffed the wonder gas will have super powers. That or it's a harbinger of a giant Cinnabon invasion. And I for one would like to take this opportunity to welcome our deliciously warm and gooey new overlords.
Second day of work out of the way. Been thrown in to see if I can swim. So far I'm doing much better than if I had to swim!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment