Good evening. On the chatty 3:10PM godly express out of the City. A happy if small group of co commuters.
I don’t want to belabor you with the details.
From where I sit, Jane Lynch, Alan Arkin, and Miss Irish-American from the 1982 St. Patrick’s Day festival are chatting in the opposite jump seat. Tall-boy beers all around, a football-commercial brand in a 24oz can. They are chatting all about family and gossip. Nothing we haven’t heard before, or will hear at Easter Sunday events.
Happy Zombie-Prophet Reanimation Day to my Christian friends.
Robert Patrick is asleep just behind the three chatterboxes. I think he’s just reconfiguring his Mach-5 body for this time period. Let him sleep.
Two guys are sitting together two seats from me. The Bill Paxton looking fellow is leaning uncomfortably into Robert DeNero’s (nice nerdy) Scarface’s personal space. Scarface is looking NY way but not at me. Bill Paxton is looking at and talking to, Scarface’s politely smiling profile. Awkward.
Also here are Adrian Brody, Paul Giamatti, Dr. Ruth Westheimer, and a clean cut Don King. All are armed.
Go get your God on. Happiness to you on this High Holy (heh) Weekend.