On the way home from work today, a man trying to slide into the PATH train at the last second found himself standing in the car with his ginormous briefcase on the other side of the shut doors. Normally the conductor would open the doors and let the guy haul his bag in. Oh, no - not today, my friends. The train pulled out of the station, and we stood on the platform and laughed as this guy screamed and pulled at the strap of his briefcase - a briefcase I suspect doesn't exist in any usable form anymore. Hope his laptop wasn't in it!
I'm in the middle of writing what I like to call a "Brokeback-erotica" story (cowboys! horses! sex! but not sex with horses!), and reading a number of books on Victorian London as research for my upcoming novelette-to-novella rewrite. I have about six pro sf markets lined up for "The Four Hundred Thousand", and I'll send it out next week after one last glance.
I bought a pair of boots, and spent an hour unlacing the fucking things so I could put them on. And then I stood in front of the mirror and realized that I didn't need to unlace them, BECAUSE THEY HAVE ZIPPERS ON THEIR SIDES. I am teh smart.