friday

The good men of Brooklyn shoveling the sidewalks with varying scruples. Some dig a hasty shovel-width path. As pedestrians walk past these shovelers pause their shoveling but, irritated by everything that prolongs their exposure, refuse to yield their fresh shovel-width. Some dig big haphazard trails, clearing great uneven swaths of sidewalk yelling to their neighbors or blasting radios as they do it. These are the rosy cheeked fellows (or at least as rosy as their race permits) who look up at everyone, smiling in the flakes and saying things like "How are ya?!" and "Can you believe it?!" and "Look at all this cocksuckin' snow." Some paths are already filling in, having been shoveled and salted from stoop to street first thing in the morning. These paths reek of landlords.