If you can make it to the end you can hear how our gurgly cat Fanta purrs. She’s a runt and a rescue. And a badass.
The men in this city are possessed of a sort of mania today. It stirs them in varied ways. I’ve been gifted a very nice copy of the Bagavad-Gita from a stranger, nearly grabbed in the tit by another stranger in the middle of the crosswalk, and as I grabbed his fingers to twist them, we were both nearly run down by an angry third stranger on a Citibike. Of course the Citibiker was a yuppie in his corporate monkey suit, running a red light and not in the bike lane, who yelled angrily at the people in the crosswalk. I hear they like to call it their “affluenza” or something. Still, I just think they’re entitled pea-brained assholes.
The Bagavad-Gita should be good to read though. The guy who handed it to me from his backpack assured me it was a no strings attached gift, as he only read the Bible now. He’d been curious about my phurpa and I talked to him a bit. I gathered that like me, he wasn’t fully plugged into the same level as most of the world. Which may explain why he was the nicest of the strangers I encountered.