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Salvation on Varet Street
As I walk around North Brooklyn I often find myself pondering the human condition. These are troubled times we live in, after all. There is more to life than documenting Fedders Specials. I was reminded of this fact on Varet Street recently.
My ass is toast, I thought to myself. There’s no way I will escape. I ride the G train.
Hmm. Maybe that’s what they want me to think. If the son of man wants to come in a manner one would never expect, the Crosstown Local would be suit his designs perfectly.
I don’t know about you dear readers, but I have a plan! When the apocalyptic shit hits the proverbial fan I am hauling my ass down to the corner of Varet Street and Graham Avenue. Not unlike the ark that brought Moses to safety, my ride employs the use of wood.
Albeit with a distinctively nuanced 20th century twist.
I sure hope this baby is an automatic. There’s no way in (or in this case, getting out of) hell I’m letting Mr. Heather behind the wheel.
Miss Heather
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