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Good Move, Brown Man


It must be me and my dickdom, but I just don’t care to help New York subway riders who are clearly dumbfounded by where they are going. I saw a lady get on the F train bewildered. It took her 3 minutes while we were docked at a station to realize it was an F train even though the newly designed train announced it 4 times.

She looked like a talker too, so I turned up the Guns N Roses and blogged away fervently to look unapproachable. So she sat next to me and bothered the lady next to her. I could tell that lady smelt what I did from this passenger: wet clothes. Not as bad as an Indian rider who never heard of Old Spice, but still an intrusive smell.

What was worse was that smelly confused rider seemed to talk in a low tone, forcing her to lean in to talk to the other lady and cup her mouth over the lady’s ear. Ew.

Good move Brown Man. You own this city. That could have been my ear close to her putrid lips, which is still cheating according to my fiancée.

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