Even though it’s not the best idea, Sunday night around 8 pm I decide is URGENT IMPORTED BEER TIME.  The liquor store that’s only 7 minutes away from my apartment is closed Sundays, which means either going to the suspicious looking neighborhood place or the PATH train station.  Suspicious beer is closer. 

I approach the front door, and an explosive young couple shows up, the guy several feet in front of the girl.  He turns to her and shouts, “Fuck you!”  For some reason, I think it’s fine to stand there, riveted.  He enters Suspicion Mart, slamming the door behind him.  The girlfriend approaches me, the smell of booze pouring off her skin.  She points at my face.

“Did you just say, ‘Fuck you!’ to him?” 


She turns and enters the store.  “Oh, OK, she didn’t say, ‘Fuck you!’ to him.  Oh, OK, I see now.”  She must have concluded his ‘Fuck you!’ was indeed aimed at her and I get drama-free beer at the PATH station.  I walk two miles in total, so of course it’s worth it.

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