The story of toilet paper, needed, and obtained.
Trip Start May 30, 2008
12Trip End Jun 22, 2008
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So, I got up from watching a movie on my couch, and briefly admired the way the memory of my butt was imprinted in the leather. Nature called however, so my time spent checking out the scenery was limited, and I made my way to the throne. It bore the evidence of being in an apartment shared by two guys, a dog, and one roommate who couldn't hold all of the liquor he presumably drank the night before. Gross. I also noted that we were out of toilet paper, and made a mental note to get some.
Later in the day, I found myself downtown, near 4th avenue, at the intersection of several Brooklyn neighborhoods. If I went up one street, I would head towards prospect park and crown heights, and had my choice of various Jamaican places that serve this amazing beef patty-except-with-veggie-meat stuff that is one of the culinary things I have found I like that is somewhat unique to new york city. But, I had one of those yesterday, so I continued on, pausing only at a magazine rack to pull a hip-hop magazine (Bender, I think?) off a shelf, and read an interview with Lil' Wayne (he does in fact, appear to be crazy, if anyone cares), I made my way down Flatbush avenue, intent on getting something vaguely middle eastern to eat.
It was about this time that I remembered that I had to buy toilet paper. However, I was walking through the section of Boerum Hill (named after the same stupid fucking Dutch Boers who colonized South Africa), and looking at the largely Arab/Muslim (often both) owned businesses, many of which sold things other than toilet paper. Passing by my favorite grocery store when I find myself needing large amounts of fresh tahini, The Fertile Crescent (great name), I made my way to a place where I could get some lunch. I had some falafel, and some baklava, and then went into a different store, to buy some of nature's favorite bleached and softened paper for the bathroom.
While standing in line, I noted both that the air smelled of some unidentifiable spice, and that trance music in Farsi is pretty bad. Thereafter though, tp in hand, I made my way to the subway, and then back home. Due to a serendipitous lack of attention on my part, and being distracted by two fairly attractive British female tourists ( I like accents), I missed my stop, took it one two far, and emerged, grumbling, eight blocks from home, toilet paper in hand, feeling as thought fate had caught me with a cheap shot right in the family jewels; it was, however, a blessing in disguise. One of the polish grocery/beer central stores on 5th avenue, several blocks from my home, was going out of business. They were liquidating (get it?) their stock, and were selling beer for up to 50% off. Resolving to come back right after I had broken in the roll in my hand, I headed home, and wrote this communiqué. I am off to buy good, cheap beer. Hope y'all are having a wonderful time.