Little victories.

I haven't been sleeping very well this week, for whatever reason (the shoulder is no longer a valid excuse, except maybe for my golf swing). There I was, 6:00 in the morning, awake like an accident on the BQE outside my patio door just exploded and rattled me awake.

Alas, no accident.

Normally I would bite the bullet and go to work, pounding complimentary coffee the way Pauly D throws back Jaegar bombs in Seaside.

But alas, no office to go to.

I knew what I needed. Dressed and jacketed I headed out into the still dark street and went underground to the L. I popped up in Manhattan, hopped above ground and found the nearest corner vendor.


Sesame with butter, small coffee with sugar, and a Post, please.
It's all about the Jets. You a Jets fan?
Giants. Since when is Sanchez the next big thing? I thought he was awful?
I'm a Jets fan. And he is awful.


Back underground to Brooklyn, little victories in the brown paper bag in my hand.


I have never seen the steps to the L train in Union Square be so...empty. This is the L train we're talking about - one of the busiest lines in the city. I'll try to get over here during rush hour next week and take a comparative shot.