I feel like a million bucks.
I just can't believe it.
Down 3-0, the Sox rally back and beat the Yankees. I spent the morning watching Sportcenter with a goofy-ass grin on my face. Johnny Damon just blew up the fucking Death Star. Also, my bite doesn't hurt at all, it's almost completely healed, and it looks like I'm going to have a bitchin' scar.
Well, one weird thing happened.
I was walking down Bedford in my Red Sox shirt, taking in the beautiful fall weather, and admiring the covers of the New York papers when this homeless guy started screaming at me.
"Cursed! YOU ARE CURSED!"
"What are you talking about dude? The Sox won, the curse is over" I said.
"You bear the mark of the devil! The wolf! You are cursed!"
I told the guy to step back, and once again reminded him that the Yankees had in fact, lost.
He lunged at me quickly, grabbed me by the lapels, and pulled me to his face. With a burst of cigarette and wine breath he hissed:
" I'm not talkin' about baseball, dipshit."
Then he wandered off.
Homeless people are crazy.