By their nature, they get to the wonderful experience of a lone person observing something ridiculous. This experiment is up there with the Gallery Place group-report for the Story Lab’s team most interesting collaborative work so far. Among the weekend’s postings in the blog:
From Annys Shin, with the quote of the night:
Valentines Day has been good for sock sales, he says. He sold nearly 200 pair today. His bestsellers were pink. “Or they got ‘Love’ on them,” he says. “Or stripes.”
“Girls love roses. It’s romantic,” he says. “Socks? They gonna go crazy.”
From Brigid Schulte, who ends up caring for a drunk stranger:
“I like Long Island Iced Teas, but they don’t like me,” she said. “They should not be allowed to go down that smoothly and that nice. They should not be allowed.”
From J. Freedom du Lac, always nailing description:
“It smelled like a sweat sock in there,” Dizelos says.
The Dupont Circle station has a peculiar, after-hours odor itself. It’s part distillery, part dirty ashtray and part Victoria’s Secret body lotion, with a box of Krispy Kremes and an overflowing barf bucket mixed in. Especially that.
Another from Annys Shin, summarizing:
A young woman in a red peacoat glances up at the display in horror. “Seventeen minutes?” she says to her companion in a sober-looking dress coat. “That is almost a half an hour.”
“I know,” the friend says. “I’m saying, it’s not New York.”