Hand To God

I was walking home from the train this morning and this is what I heard:

“I feel like I am *this close* to losing it, *this goddam close*… (pause)… What’s the difference? What’s the difference? The difference is that *TODAY* I’m walking down a public street in my bathrobe and thongs. *TODAY*. If I do it *every day from now on* then lock me up, because I swear to God I’m *this close*”

I turned to look across a somewhat busy street to see a woman in her fifties, wearing a bathrobe and, I’m glad to say, flip-flops on her feet (not a thong bottom), pushing a stroller with a five year old, too large for the stroller and nearly tipping the whole mess over, strapped in the lower half, and about fifty pounds of laundry balanced on the upper half. She was controlling the stroller with one hand and yelling into a cell phone with the other.

More later.