New York's been taking it on the chin of late.
After the Thousand-Year Storm turned out to be something of a bust, we've had three or four days and nights of sleet and slush and slippery.
There are more old-people prostrate on the streets than used condoms.
Someone ought to come by and sweep them up.
The ice keeps coming, like at a Yuppie's pool party in the Hamptons.
It's cast a pall on New York, it all has.
Partly due to the gloomy weather, partly due to the fact that there's no one who isn't wearing a black coat. In fact, the closet at work looks like it belongs to the Hasidic.
I even think people are choosing to stay home, rather than come to work. The M15 bus this morning, for instance, it reached speeds of up to three miles per hour. Unprecedented.
The one thing that keeps the city's equilibrium is the Chinese delivery men wrapped in plastic, smoking cigarettes down to the nub and biking everywhere with food for everyone. There are so many delivery guys out in the evening that I even saw one going the right way down a one-way street.
I don't know how New York would respond if, god forbid, we were once again terrorist-attacked.
My guess is we'd hunker down.
Maybe stay home from work.
Order our beef and broccoli.
And tip a little better than usual.