Today’s New York story: I was walking down the street to the subway when a paint-splattered guy rooting through the trash for bottles looks up and asks me, “Hey, do you know what half and a half is?”
“Creamer,” I reply.
“No, it’s when you like both halves: men and women, half and a half,” he says. “Now, I only like that other half maybe once every two years, but I like the option.”
“It’s good to have options,” I tell him. “No need to be pigeon-holed.”
“You’re right,” he says, pulling a plastic bottle from the trash. He cocks his eye. “I like your hair, baby,” he says.
“You have a pleasant day,” I reply, heading to the subway, off to find another cup of coffee and a different sort of half and half.