Monday Morning Mirth
Call me silly but a rose being a rose being a rose, most people do not drift too far from type in their personal likes and dislikes. You like your butter or your margarine. Coke or Pepsi. Gaz, no Gaz (this made me giggle every time I have the good fortune to be eating in PARIS!).
For me this trickles right down to the basic daily events. Nothing is immune from my peccadillos, not even the parking garage. Imagine, if you will, a downtown palace of wheels, a little dank, a little dirty, a little musty. It’s the City; nothing is ever pristine.
You have 10 levels to choose from and yet, you always go to the very same one. You tell yourself it’s the one that you can fly out of when you’re done working for the man, but you know. It’s the way the elevator hallway calls your name. It’s the way the Parking Guys put up stuff to make you remember where you parked your pitiful wheels.
It’s Level #3 — Fashion or nothing, 10 ft tall: