Om Shanti; or, An Unpaid Advertisement

The thing I love best about living in my neighborhood in midtown Manhattan is that, even when I come out of my Saturday morning yoga class - chakras aligned, core strengthened, toxins purged, tensions relieved - and haven't walked two blocks before some shlub slithers past me and mutters, "Learn to walk like a man, homo," and then another two blocks before a Jersey Mom in an SUV first waits for me to get through the cross-walk and then blares her horn at me before speeeding off to the red light ten yards away, I can always rest assured that it will only be another two blocks before I have my hands on a C-Ya with blueberries(TM) and all will be right in the world again.