  "I got a new pink top this morning to wear to Webster Hall for fight night tomorrow," she told her friend. "Pink? " her friend inquires. Yes, she thought, my world's gone to pink! But I can't get away from it this season. It stares out at me from every single store window I pass. It seems that every shop in Manhattan has clothes in varying shades of pepto bismol. What to do, she pondered. She'll wear her new pink top that's topless but has this swanky piece of lace that is attached under the breast and then wraps around her neck, knowing that it will choke her at some point during the night.
Knowing that part of her future is taken care of, she turns her thoughts to dinner. Nothing jumps out at her from the cabinets, which is a good thing considering food doesn't generally jump. She knows the pork chops in the freezer will take too long to thaw. And if she went that route, she'll have eaten Berg's cat food before dinner would be ready. "It should definitely be something that tastes good," he suggests. She nods her approval and hopes that he wouldn't prefer something that tastes like it came off the subway floor instead. She shakes her head and narrows it down to meatless spaghetti or ordering dinner from the Chinese place down the street.
"Spaghetti! " he says, so spaghetti it is. *** She stands at the sink washing last night's dishes and she thinks back to her commute home this evening. They guy she sat next to on the train smelled curiously like hotdogs. She tried not to look directly at him as it is common knowledge that you just don't look directly at anyone in New York City. He got off at Queensboro Plaza and took the smell of hotdogs with him. Perhaps he's a street vendor, she thought. *all stories are fiction 
