I posted basically this exact piece at roughly the same time last year. Its sentiment still applies perfectly -- especially since, as luck would have it, I'm once again mercifully out of the city on this onerous day.
And behold I saw the Seventh Seal broken.
And the streets became as swarth -- and the skies became as blunt smoke.
Everywhere, there were girls with huge asses in absurdly tight jeans, foul mouths full of gold teeth, multiple children from different fathers, and no hope of ever getting that GED.
There were men with cigarettes tucked behind their ears, oversized fake-gold chains around their necks, outstanding bench warrants numbering in the double-digits, and a minimal chance of not being incarcerated by this time next year.
All around, there were low-riders, colorful flags of all shapes and sizes, a hilariously ill-advised sense of pride and the faulty assumption that those who live along 5th Avenue are happy to play host to such a festive event -- particularly in 97 degree heat and 112% humidity.
And Daddy Yankee's Gasolina blared from every speaker.
Yet, through all of this chaos, God did in fact prove himself powerful, kind and compassionate.
Because, as it turns out, I'm out of town today -- and therefore don't have to deal with the fucking Puerto Rican Day Parade.
(Yeah, I know. I suck. You know the drill: Direct all complaints here.)
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