My winter coat has blue paint on it. I have to be honest with you; I’m not a painter. I don’t own overalls. Overall, my closet is overalless. The paint is from a subway pole that I foolishly leaned against, when I was tired and in need. The MTA was like “See that one set of unremovable blue marks on your black jacket? That is when I carried you… into Eddie Bauer… to buy a new jacket.” If you’re wondering if I ever got it cleaned, the answer is “no.” It’s still blue, to quote Eiffel 65. No one has said a word to me about it, I think because they know that if they ever do, they’ll end up just like my jacket; a little black and blue.

My umbrella exploded today. You probably didn’t know that an umbrella could explode, just sort of snap back like a cool hat, but I’ve done my own research, and it launched itself apart with a force so hard that my first question was “Did I solve the umbrella? Is this going to unlock another puzzle somewhere else that I have to decode?” A trap door in the floor did open, but I’ve been too chickenshit to go in and explore. Then, I asked myself “Am I now in the umbrella academy? Or is this more of a National Treasure: Umbrella of Secrets type of thing?” Yes, an umbrella can explode like a bullet out of a gun and yes, you only get the one shot. The spring inside of an umbrella is long and thin and flimsy as hell, when not installed in an umbrella. It ended up dirty and crumpled on the subway car floor, so I guess I am throwing away that shot and I’m also throwing away this umbrella.