NYC cont'd.

Why, indeed? An amusing piece of graffiti at the West 4th street station. Simple and to the existential point. Much more appealing than the usual expletives that find themselves scrawled in places of public transport. I was feeling contemplative, listening to Jonathan Richman sing about the moment being like bread - we gotta eat it now. Day old bread just won't do.
Finally went out of my way to satisfy the craving for Men Kui Tei. Sapporo, Nira Reba, and Tonkotsu Ramen were ingested. Forced to sit at the bar because it was typically crowded, I realized that the bar is how ramen is meant to be eaten. That thin sliver of an excuse for a table, with only enough room for a bowl of ramen and tiny manga comic book. And the one grumpy japanese man tossing hot oil and soy sauce into a wok burnt to a crisp surrounded by latinos of indeterminate origin (mexican? ecuadorian?) making the best ramen in NYC. The bar brings you closer to the steam and the action. The one thing that always takes me off guard is that they always serve the appetizer after the ramen. So you get your beer, then your ramen (entree), and then the appetizer.
Sunset at Newark airport.
Back in Vegas, it rains the day before Thanksgiving. The rain penetrated the office cubicle and starting dripping on my prematurely balding head. The water stain made an interesting pattern; a stark contrast to the man-made 90 degree angles of the ceiling structure and the vent.