Tod’s scratching away as his nervous pal, Jackie looks on (they’re splitting the winnings down the middle).
 

Colony does a half-way decent job of getting those deep stains out of RY, which is way more than you can say about those other RY Cleaning joints in the city.  My theory is that they just throw your RY into a plastic bag, let it sit for a day, then throw it on a hanger.

Even kids are getting in line to get tattoos these days!  The boy’s saying, “I’ll take the same as her”.

They say that a society is reflected in it’s garbage.

Reggie was kind enough to show me around the Richmond Hill section of Jamaica Avenue the other day.   He kept peddling off into the unknown then sneaking up behind me.

He knew all the spots and had his finger on the pulse of weirdness.  When I asked him what he knew about my neighborhood, Zaghaven, he just shrugged and pointed North.  “It’s over there,” he said.

It’s not so much that the Old Cars of the Sixth Borough can talk, it’s more like psychic grumbling.  They’re always like, “I can’t believe this shit… Oh you wanna drive somewhere?  Fine!  It’d be nice if I you asked me what I wanna do…”  It’s all under the breath style.  “Sackin’ Frackin'” as they used to say in the cartoons.  “Festival Heifer,” like the dad says in A Christmas Story.  That’s Stanley down there, bt-dubs.

Commendable half-Throw-up on Queens Blvd.