Down to Chelsea. A coffee at the Donut Pub. Coffee 0/10. I want to say it’s the worst coffee I’ve ever had, but then I would have to accept that it’s coffee, and it wasn’t - it was brown water.
On the way to Chelsea Market there was a pool of light hitting the corner of a building that looked just like a giraffe.
First we had a final (?) trip to The Strand Bookstore to add to the stupidly big pile of books to bring back. The shop boasts eighteen miles of books (about 2 1/2 million books), but of course far less since I’ve been.
In Chelsea Market was Heatonist. They let you taste test a series of chilli from Mild to Not Very Mild At All. I tried the hottest one which had a name something like “Pucker Butt”. It was essentially a mash of Carolina Reaper Chilli and vinegar. My mouth went on quite a journey. It disappeared into a new pain dimension for a while and then came back to tell me of its travels.
A bunch of eejits were shouting about Leviticus to promote their fear and/or hatred of gay people. They were covered in tattoos which Leviticus also says you can’t have. Jane wasn’t keen that I went over to point out the irony in the situation. As if usually the case on the street, the people that shout the loudest about religion are the ones who have done the smallest amount of research.
It being (almost) St. Patrick’s Day (technically, it’s tomorrow - but Catholics don’t march on a Sunday) it seemed fitting to have a Guinness in an Irish bar. If you can’t celebrate a Saint with a lazy stereotype on SPD then when can you? Cheers.
Back home for food then off into Times Square for some night photos.