Between Auditions

I was walking across town on 42nd Street, from east to west. I'm sure some people must know this route.

So I walked past Bryant Park, crossed Sixth Avenue and ran into Queen Logorrhea. It's this women who tucks herself in between a Verizon store and a subway entrance and coos and coos about how we're all sinners. She speaks into a microphone, has a folding table piled with damning pamphlets, and uses horrific photos to illustrate her points. Her most consistent visual aid is a blow-up photo of an aborted fetus. But it's more than that. It's a friggin' DECAPITATED aborted fetus. And it is there every day.

People pour of their offices for lunch, mill around, look for a tasty sandwich and chips and then - Oh, it's a dead baby with no head! Better get a smoothie.

Yesterday's diatribe went like this: "These days people curse all the time. You hear them, every other word is a curse word. They could be high school dropouts or college graduates. It doesn't matter. They can't control their mouths. And why? Because they have dirty minds."

I glanced down at her photo and walked on.