“How ya doin’?” the man on the weight bench asked between pumps. I’d seen him there before: a small, bald, wiry fellow.
“OK,” I said. “How are you?”
“Trying to stay alive. It keeps getting harder. I was at the doctor’s the other day and a man in the waiting room asked me how old I was. I said ‘80.’ He said, ‘I’m 90. You don’t want to be 90.’”
I told him I hadn’t seen him in a while. He said his insurance pays for him to go to a high-end gym, with trainers. “I asked one of the trainers, ‘Which of these machines should I use to impress these pretty young women?’ And he said, ‘Try the ATM.’”
Shouldn't his name by Punxsutawney Paul?
The president can't start a war with the government shut down.
Hearing that a publication that always rejected you has folded.
The cover story in the New York Times Magazine on Sunday was on the city's subway system, and the photo captions included:
"An M.T.A. worker cutting through a piece of steel as new track is fitted on the 1 line in Manhattan."
"A J train leaving the Chambers Street station in Manhattan."
"A rat hauling a Moon Pie into the shadows at 125th Street."