Tragedy sometimes strikes in this world, as those of us who've ever accidentally read a Thomas Friedman column in the New York Times know all too well. (Yes, nonsensical, reductive, and mixed metaphors are a tragedy.) Well, an even greater tragedy than The World Is Flat happened to this moi last night. I was taking the day off from riding my bike into midtown for work, so just rode it to the train. Went on to have a pretty tragedy-free day and was looking forward to Jimmy's homemade shrimp and cheese grits, which was on the docket for the evening meal. Our friend Rachel Roth was coming over, and we were going to have a li'l dinner party. So I got off the L train at Bedford Avenue and sauntered on over to where my bike was locked up and audibly gasped. No estaba alli! All that was left of Randy was the front tire and my lock.
Also too: I will find you. And when I do, I'm sending Jimmy and Rachel over to rearrange every room in your apartment. YOU WON'T KNOW WHERE ANYTHING IS.