The other night I was on my way home from dinner with friends in Dumbo (a neighborhood in Brooklyn, for those of you who aren’t familiar, named for the acronym, “Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass.” Yes, they just really wanted to name the place Dumbo.) Due to the vagaries of subway routes in our fair borough, this is always much harder than is should be. Despite that I don’t live far from Dumbo, it has one train, and I have one train on weekends, and the two don’t intersect — and on top of that there was track work on both lines, so neither was running where it should have been anyway. So, since it was around 10:30 pm on a warmish night, I decided to do what has become my default plan for Dumbo, and Citibike to my train — the only other real option being to take a cab, on which I was loathe to spend the 20 bucks.
When The Right Thing To Do Is Wrong
When The Right Thing To Do Is Wrong
When The Right Thing To Do Is Wrong
The other night I was on my way home from dinner with friends in Dumbo (a neighborhood in Brooklyn, for those of you who aren’t familiar, named for the acronym, “Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass.” Yes, they just really wanted to name the place Dumbo.) Due to the vagaries of subway routes in our fair borough, this is always much harder than is should be. Despite that I don’t live far from Dumbo, it has one train, and I have one train on weekends, and the two don’t intersect — and on top of that there was track work on both lines, so neither was running where it should have been anyway. So, since it was around 10:30 pm on a warmish night, I decided to do what has become my default plan for Dumbo, and Citibike to my train — the only other real option being to take a cab, on which I was loathe to spend the 20 bucks.