On the subway this morning, there was a guy sat down opposite me who had to be the most tired person I have ever seen. He seemed to be trying to fight his head lolling around, but it was in vain. It seemed that he was on his way to class (although had probably missed his stop, as we were ploughing through Brooklyn), as he was carrying a book entitled "Pre-calculus". I don't hold out much hope for his levels of alertness increasing when he gets there.
Occasionally, by coincidence and nothing more I might add, the music on your iPod perfectly reflects your surroundings. This morning, just after sitting opposite this guy, Petula Clark chimed in with a lovely rendition of Don't Sleep In The Subway. This was succeeded by the wonder that is Guns 'n Roses' Sweet Child O' Mine, which took me back to my e-Envoy days and Mr. Poole's highly-irritating ringtone, in full polyphonic glory. Have you changed it yet, Mark?
SpongeBob (apparently it's one word with a capital B) is causing a stir again stateside due to his promotion of gay antics. I love stories like this, which merely highlight that people have got nothing better to do than whinge (an English word, I recently found out). Get a life...
