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THE DIFFERENCE OF AN HOUR OR TWO

Earlier this week I ran out to complete a few errands in the middle of the afternoon on one of our last hot days before fall. Now, my apartment is tucked towards the back of my building to the point that it takes quite a bit of ruckus from outside sound to penetrate our walls. Except, of course, our upstairs neighbor who has a tendency to stand on the fire escape smoking and singing to the moonlight while also yelling at his kids. Classy. I know.

But overall, our home is quiet. So you can imagine my oblivious surprise when I came blinking out into the sunlight to this loud scene taking place on my street:

It was a full-on carnival complete with a live band, radio announcers, screaming children and intoxicated adults. And I asked myself – where else can you purchase classic black dress socks, a French crepe and a palm reading from a “real genuine nice psychic” in the same tent? Probably no where but the block part that took place on my street.

However, I was ever MORE surprised when I came back home a few hours later to this:

Same street. No joke. Where am I going to purchase off brand black socks?

Posted in Humor, Life.


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