Saturday, September 25, 2010

06:35 FT

I am an immigrant.

Staten Island is my Ellis Island. I carry with me all my belongings. The ferry is my steamship. I am excited and nervous about the new world.

Of course, almost none of this is true.

The ferry is now for the always-awake, the partygoers, and still, against all odds, at least one tour group.

And one older Asian guy puking his guts out in a trash can at the Manhattan terminal (red wine, I'm guessing).

And now: corned beef. I'm eating, I mean.

-Special K


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