I have a predilection for documenting shit: be it human, canine or sub-standard construction. I also have a fascination for public pay phones rendered useless by human abuse. But alas of late I have become jaded.
This paltry specimen from Bed Stuy didn’t impress me. The receiver is gone, someone lost his shirt, yada, yada, yada…
I wanted MORE.
I got it...
courtesy of Queensboro Plaza. I can’t honestly say I will miss this eyesore. But the construction fences demarcating what is arguably one of the UGLIEST BUILDINGS in New York City leaves much to the imagination…
and the incontinent. It reeks.
Note the happy people gracing this pay phone kiosk. They’re all “thumbs up”— not unlike our fearless leader. Neither they nor King George the Second (fighting the war on terror overseas) would want to pick up— much less use— the phone contained therein.
Which is worse: a crapped phone* or a tapped phone? Go to Queens Plaza and figure it out for yourself.
Miss Heather
*That is shit. Trust me. How the hell they got it ON the phone is beyond me.
I’m guessing a contortionist with a seven-layer bean burrito left his or her mark after being asked to deposit another 25¢.
picture one does not contain the image of a shirt, rather, we witness the ghost of the pay phone rising up to glory, albeit slowly.
I ain’t afraid of no ghost.