a very chilly week in boston this time, spent a lot of time eavesdropping at peet's coffee in cambridge, where the banter is often distinctly ivy. but a few nicely resonant normal things came through:
We skinny guys eat a lot. We can really put it away.
It's my daughter's birthday. I gotta go buy her a tutu.
I had two, actually, but one of them died.
Before, it was really okay.
and then in new york, 168th street subway:
What happened to all of my stuff? I need my belongings.
You don't live here. You can't live here.