About a week ago, I was at Steinhardt really late for no justifiable reason as usual (past 10PM there are too many people hanging out in the practice rooms to succeed in getting anything done.) I got to the D train around 12:30 and arrived at around 1:15 in the morning. As wonderful as my train-time-for-reading-assignments strategy is, I failed miserably at it like every other late night and fell asleep – somehow, I woke up at 9th avenue and stumbled off the train.

(I once accidentally overshot my stop by about 4 stations, and taking the D train back added about an hour to my trip. That was terrible.)

I groggily walked home as usual with a couple things on my mind (also as usual:)…
1. Are my headphones covered by my hair?
2. Is the bodega selling corn on the cob with mayo and parmesan today?
3. how many cats are going to be hanging out on my block today?

…when I heard the buzzing of a small motor vehicle through my Missy Elliot discography – I whirled around, and saw a moped behind me. Fine, except that the fucker SWERVES OFF THE ROAD AND ONTO THE SIDEWALK, which puts me in a catatonic deer-in-the-headlights state. Three seconds later, the moped swerves around me and pulls up by a house. A little old Chinese man takes off his helmet, waves that it’s OK, and while I can’t even talk because I thought I was going to die three seconds before, I start jogging away from the guy.

Also, I saw a little old Chinese lady dressed up in a flowery blouse and wearing a Grand Theft Auto backpack.

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