8th
doormen crack me up, man. i encountered this overly modernized plaque on the side of 505 West End the other day. it caught my eye because it was enormous and red. upon further inspection, i found that rachmaninoff had lived there, so i started to read it when the doorman came running out to survey the situation. “can i help you miss?” what the hell does he think i’m doing, prying it off with my spit and hangnails? freak. and if they don’t want people reading it or snapping a shot, why make it a flaming cannonball of a planet on an otherwise bland building? i was like “um, is it alright that i take a picture?” he acted all “oh i never had a problem with you doing that,” and added “there’s a much better plaque around the corner!” “no thanks! i care, but not that much.” people take their shit way seriously. TIDAN!
