I'm holed up in my apartment today, doing rewrites on my play (HERE Arts Center August 1-4!) and pacing around and eating Edy's fruitbars and generally suffering from a mid-20s existential crisis. So I likely won't have much contact with the outside world. So I offer you this. From back in October.
P.S. I still don't own a track suit.
Weird Old Dude on the Street: I like your track suit.
Me in sweatpants at the mailbox outside my building:...
WODOTS: I SAID. I LIKE your TRACKSUIT.
MISATMOMB: Oh, uh...um...thanks.
WODOTS: I used to have one just like it.
MISATMOMB: Heh, cool. (Turning to go)
WODOTS: So. You aren't gonna bother correcting me and telling me you aren't wearing a track suit.
WODOTS: You clearly are not wearing a track suit.
MISATMOMB: No...no I'm not
WODOTS: So you were just gonna let it go? You were gonna let me call it a track suit?
MISATMOMB: It sort of seemed easier that way, yes.
WODOTS: (walking away) I don't need anyone placating me. I don't need that.