Hootspa or something along those lines

Venturing out during the Christmas, anywhere in the States, take a certain level of intestinal fortitude, hootspa, and resilience. Aw, hell, who am I kidding? I should've packed bourbon in my Coach.


I ventured into Soho for some yarn, for those implied Christmas gifts, and along Broadway touristy shoppers, NY shoppers, and street vendors jostled me along. At many points there was no air between me and the next soul. Along NY streets noticing odd smells is not unusual, but noticing body odor is something else.


About two weeks ago The Times, I believe, had an article about hipsters not showering on the regular basis. More so, these happenin' chumps don't use deodorant either. Well folks, I am no-so-proud to tell you that these fools are not urban legend. The streets, impressed with Christmas shoppers and people in various levels of batshit crazy, oozed of roasted chestnuts, evergreen sprigs, and the stinky, stinky hispter.


These fools make my nose hairs curl, my face contort, and force my to spray good perfume on the underside of my scarf so I don't gag. Come on already. Take a bath. Use soap. Joins the masses and ranks of civilized society.


Just to show I'm not entirely cantankerous, tourist just asked me on the platform--in a midwest drawl--how to get to Times Square. I didn't roll my eyes and tell them that isn't the real New York. Naw. Instead, I told them to take the N to 42d. See, I'm not all gruff!

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