Snow boots and the cranky old guy

Today I had to run errands in a blizzard. My snow boots are packed in one of a million boxes in my storage unit and after 3 attempts to find them during the last snowstorm I gave up. And, knowing they were in there somewhere I refuse to buy another pair. So, I took two large plastic bags, wrapped one around each of my shoes, taped the bottom with packing tape and then wrapped more tape around my feet once I had them on. Okay, I admit, looked a bit "homeless chic". Walking down the street I would say 75% of people passing me would glance down at my feet and smirk. On the subway the guy next to me said..."Very smart, my feet are soaked".

This was one weird snowstorm. It would snow like crazy, stop, get sunny, cloud up, then snow some more. A heavy, wet, slushy snow.

Leaving apartment

After my errands I met up with friends Todd and Angel at a bar on 17th street called Rye. We drank a quick draft then went to a few local thrift stores. They're both scavengers like myself but they are pros, I'm a mere amateur by comparison. With no treasures found we walked over to 13th street to their (current) favorite bar, Spain. Walking in they told me the bartender/owner was the meanest nastiest man in the world. We walked in, ordered a beer and killed a few hours shooting the breeze talking about photography. They serve meatballs and potato slivers for free at the bar. Too bad for me, I don't eat meat. The mean old guy would lean against the bar and doze off every five minutes until someone woke him up for another round. "Hey, Padre...another cerveza". I guess you can't fire the owner for snoozing on the job.

At 7:30 Todd and I met Rebecca and Kristi at a restaurant on Bleecker Street. It was dark and warm and we had some great Italian food. As we walked out, Rebecca glanced down at my homemade snow boots and burst out laughing. Really hard laughing. I didn't give a shit..my feet were warm and dry. I might apply for a patent.

Boots end of night