In the summer, in NYC, it was riders of the subway, and all over city streets, holding clear plastic cups of varying sizes. Some as big as a thermos, Like a cocktail without a stigma, the swirling, sugary drug desert is invigorating just to look at. Who would want a universe without them, or the delicate wounded workers who gather courage through it's syrupy spell.
Showing posts with label america runs on dunkin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label america runs on dunkin. Show all posts