The thing about being here in Manhattan, as I am tonight, is learning to go with the flow where Fifth (which separates East from West) and Broadway cross. If I were a quarterback, this would be the ultimate crossing route, but which one should I pick?
Alas, I am not a quarterback; only a modest blogger. Not to worry, though, as there is a deli on every corner and they are open 24 hours a day. Good thing, too, because I was famished after my all day plane ride from the coast.
All they offered us on the plane was a boxed "snack," which cost five dollars. Inside was nothing but leftover samples from some food trade show or another. "You just paid five bucks to get marketed to," pointed out my seat mate, helpfully, as I perused the unappetizing mix of plastic-wrapped, preservative-laden, "natural" items.
He was right, of course, but I was so hungry, I would have eaten the American Way magazine if they had given me some salt and ketchup. Now, a couple slices of New York pizza and a banana later, it is easy to joke about this, but man, what if I were seriously hypoglycemic? Makes me shiver to even imagine it.
At least in this town, which never sleeps, a man can get the sustenance he needs without pushing a call button.
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