Living in New York makes me want to steal. Katie steals grapes. I stole grilled portobello from work yesterday - just walked out the cafeteria like whoa, not even any art to it - and today I stole nori from the Hoaf. We both steal the wsj, usually either from Bethany Thomas in our building or Thierry Vincent over at 13 E. 18th st. (conveniently on the way to the Hoaf)...I've never met these people, but if you haven't picked up your wsj by noon then I already have a Thierry about you: you're gay.
I have a book idea: its called An Economic History of Me...it would attempt to narrativize every dollar I've earned or spent since age five. Theft would be in there too, mengs...bien sur...and would receive a clever accounting treatment at which historians of the Twentieh century would marvel in years to come. I also have another book idea: it would be a Sexual History of Me as an Insect.