There are few things that bring me joy like the Sunday New York Times. When I lived in Lower Manhattan, the Sunday Times meant a brief respite from boat work. It meant a few hours with a bagel in North Cove Marina as I read the thing from front to back. It was one of the great perks that came with my bookstore job. This morning, it meant finding one on my driveway with my name inside.
I think the video misses the part where I show the list to the camera. Maybe it was as nervous and excited as I was.
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