To men in NYC, and all over the world, I ask you this:

Why must you sit with your legs spread as though they being pried apart using one of those dentist's clamps? It began in 6th grade carpool, when I was squished into the door by your this ridiculous and incessant phenomena. It has followed me through life, today manifesting itself on an over-crowded train during rush hour.

Don't tell me it's just a comfort thing, either. I have seen men sitting, legs crossed tightly.

Men, you take twice the space you need, and look utterly foolish. Stop spreading you legs like your straddling the worlds largest pumpkin.

and

To the man with the fruit stand outside my apartment:

Where art thou?

You sell me my morning banana for only 25 cents, it makes my day, everyday.

You don't placate me with a smile I'm only paying you a quarter after all.

You speedily deliver a yellow pocket of creamy, sweet, fruit into my hands.

I don't think you sleep, because you're dutifully on the corner every time I walk past.

But today, my dear fruit man, you were a no-show.

I went work with nothing more than a smelly coin in my hand.

Please come back.