Waiting to Get There. Usually on the A/C/E in Chelsea, New York City.

 Tom went over to Westside Market to pick up some non-dairy milk before the snowpocalypse. He was the odd man out with his little quart of West Soy. Most everybody else in the huge ass line for checkout had arms full of beer and a lot of fancy cheese. Because beer and fancy cheese are clearly homebound essentials south of 28th Street. Anyway, "It's Raining Men" starts playing through the grocery store speakers. Most men in the entire giant-ass line are tapping their feet and bobbing their heads.  Never change, Chelsea. 

 So... And I don't want to get too excited about this because it's not yet a done deal, but we put an offer in on a new apartment and it was accepted. Crossing fingers it will all work out because it's a really nice place. In the meantime, we got wind that the two old guys across the hall put their apartment on the market. They have lived there forever. This is the unit right next to the elevator. I'm kinda sad about this development and would have been even more so if we were not (hopefully) ourselves moving. This neighbor couple, if asked, would probably regard us as acquaintances. But I might put them in a list of best friends. I feel like we know them really well. They are hard of hearing. Their apartment is right next to the elevator. You don't have to try too hard to eavesdrop when the gentlemen are hard of hearing. For the past thirteen years, every time I wait for the elevator, I've listened to them squabble with each other. I know all about the problem