The brief, but pointed letter from one concerned citizen to the City paper’s Editors read, in its entirety, as follows, “Dear Sirs: The Huns are at EVERYONE’S door.”
As he took his final breath, the Minister Of City Feelings And Stability whispered to his gathered friends, “Glue and cement are lonely states of affairs – necessary, but lonely.”
Some – “Oh no, not that!” – practical advice: If you’re going to try to rip out your brain, start at one of the edges.
Standing tall amidst the collection of vino scraps and late night musings, he clearly recalled, “I am a great city, I cannot be destroyed, and none can breach my boundaries, but I am strangling in my own pollution.” (Some present trusted this to be said metaphorically, some had their doubts, and others thought they were in the wrong bar.)
One guy who hands out pamphlets in the park professes to “Actually know” why dogs pretend to like humans.
A fan writes to say that although he’s never been part of the culture crowd, after reading the Daily News, he has taken a new look in that direction, and has decided that, “The arts are Life’s way of ‘smiling through man’ (or else Life’s personal form of ridicule).”