I left the house at noon. I got to my stop at 1:45. Because the MTA hates me and is bent on psychologically destroying me.
Cabaret was absolutely amazing. Alan Cumming clearly has an aging painting of himself hidden away somewhere because he looks exactly the same, if not better, than when I saw him do the show in 1998. Michelle Williams, unsurprisingly, was mind bendingly, astonishingly wonderful.
A and I managed to make hanging out in Times Square actually kind of fun.
The train announcements lied to me for the hour long ride back to the Bronx, telling me I was on the 5. This was not true, the train was running on the 2 track, which left me a 40 minute walk from the house. Because the MTA hates me and is bent on psychologically destroying me.
I got a taxi and the driver was incredibly nice, and charged me way less than he should have because Dominican solidarity. He even flat out refused to take a tip. I was thinking how the great thing about New York is there is always some saving grace that reminds you of how great this city and the people can be.
And then I got into the house to find what I believe is a centipede, the length of my hand, sitting on the dining room wall.
I think the centipede might be in league with the MTA…