Culture on the Cheap
I was recently embroiled in a controversy at the local Taco Bell. The source of this conflict was a 40-something suit who wanted to use his credit card to purchase $7.00 worth of food. Since the minimum was $10 (and he was unwilling to go to an ATM) this chap began entreating his fellow patrons to let him buy their lunch with his credit card and pay him back in cash. No one seemed interested in taking him up on this arrangement save me— for three very selfish reasons:
- I wanted some nachos*. BAD.
- I was very hungry and wanted to eat sometime this century.
- I wanted him to SHUT UP.
Therefore, I gladly gave him some bucks and we ordered food. In his gratitude (or perhaps thinking me to be his new friend) he started talking me up.
Man: Do you like that color?
Man (pointing to my lilac colored hair): Your hair and clothes, they match.
Given that I was faced with one of the more idiotic questions I had been posed with in quite awhile (if I didn’t like lilac so much, why the hell would I be clad top to bottom— literally— in it?), I handled it pretty well:
Yes, I like lilac, pink, purple, you name it. I am not afraid of color.
I mention this anecdote because I was tickled pink to discover later this very same day that someone in Bed Stuy also has an affection for this hue.
Or they had a serious surplus of pink paint and a lot of free time on their hands. Take your pick.
Not even the seating was left untouched.
I call this photograph Ode To A Cerisian Urn.
Or should I make that urns?
Yes sir, someone on Quincy Street sure loves them some pink!
*Yours truly has a weakness for cheese that comes out of a tube.