Glouchester

Pronounced: [glosta]

At the check station, cashing a money order:

Her gold name tagged glimmered " YDALMIS" behind the bullet-proof glass. Her accent was sliced through the conversation vent cut in the middle of the booth. Her fingernails, long and pink contrasted the green bills she was counting, and her green polo uniform, complete with an golden embroidered text that read:  PLEA$E.

dance yourself clean

I was ordering an americano when a hand came from behind me and swiped off about a dozen cappuccino mugs from the bar onto the floor, where they all but smashed into tiny pieces. The same hand then proceeded to go into a cookie jar and retrieved the chocolate chip one with due satisfaction. I, then traced the cookie to the hand, up to the arm and finally to the owner of this tumultuous elephant trunk to find a hasidic jew that immediately fled the scene. I noticed he was wearing steel washers on his fingers, like children when pretending to be married, only his were being utilized as some sort of brass knuckle that he repeatedly tested on the cafe's glass facade as if it were a punching bag. After this ruckus, he dashed for the intersection of Union Square, one that has about five lanes of cars all merging in the center, which is where our friend laid down a la odalisque with his cookie, like a peacock fan in his right hand. He then retorted to the gathering onlookers: "I have just ingested enough lysergic acid that I am no longer a citizen of this country!" Two police cars, a fire truck, and a paddy wagon all showed up within five minutes and their inhabitants all circled the man who sat nibbling his cookie, as cool as a cucumber, laughing hysterically at the ring of uniforms that fenced him in.

I left without knowing the rest, the crowds were too much. It was also the sabbath today. It will probably be on youtube. ho hum.

a woman with birds nest like hair approached me near a highway on-ramp. She was strolling along the sidewalk wearing a flesh colored sports bra and cut off denim shorts, essentially nothing. In a very manly voice she asked me if I knew where the closest junkyard was.