Overheard, #1
Finally, I have a catch-all place for my good and mediocre ‘overheard-in-New-Yorks.’
It was a gorgeous Sunday early afternoon. Not a cloud in the sky. The kind of day that makes Manhattan look beautiful and Brooklyn, fairly decent.
I stopped to buy a coffee from the “Love Coffee” truck in Union Square. The truck is painted in swirly ’60s colors, and the coffee drinks on the menu all have cutesy names. A small coffee is called “Li’l Love,” a medium coffee, “Lotta Love,” and, well, you get the idea.
I’m waiting in line to order. Ordinary schlumpy mid-30s man in a casual/athletic outfit is ahead of me. Ordinary sort of irritated-seeming man working inside the truck. Guy in front of me jiggles his knee, says through the window of the truck, “Uhh, yeah, could I just get a lotta love?”
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