This morning I ran out of money in the middle of paying for a muffin at the deli below my office. I scraped the bottom of my change purse for pennies (I was late already, no time for an ATM stop). Failing to come up with enough change as the cashier alternately scooped coins off the counter and stared, I grabbed all fifteen cents in the "take a penny" cup and vowed to her I'd give it back next time. As I left the office this evening and slunk past the deli, still without a cent, it seemed to me I was on the verge of running down what slack I could reasonably expect to be cut around here. True, the company is moving its offices to another building at the end of the year, which will likely end my visits to this deli, but I've lived in this city twelve years, working in this neighborhood on and off the whole time, and I know with Seinfeldian determinacy how one comes back around to people and places. Then of course, no sooner did I start toward the subway than I felt ravenously hungry and remembered the cup of yogurt in my purse. I'm compelled to admit it: not only did I stop at another deli and collect a plastic spoon without buying anything, but I proceeded to eat the yogurt on the subway, risking certain calamity and dry cleaning liability if the train had stopped short. All gone, I thought, scraping the last spoonful out, the slack is all gone.
(Be warned, subway slackers: Bradamant stands poised to capture your transit faux pas. Or sits, if she was able to get a seat.)
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