Nora's Transit Strike Diary: Day Three, or Wha Happened?

Yesterday I made it to work. I got up early, got my butt out on the street corner and hustled myself a ride. I ended up getting into a van with a strange man who had a mustache. We picked up two other strangers in order to meet the 4-passenger requirement for cars entering Manhattan below 96th Street, and I paid $10 to be dropped off at 59th and Lexington. The 17-block walk to work was dwarfed by the 60 block hike I took home with Reena in Spanish Harlem, a neighborhood that is everything that the name implies. Our sleepover fun was cut short by her neighbors, who decided that their party (which was loud enough to begin with) wasn't complete without some domestic violence. After a long and sleepless night, we bundled up and headed out into the morning, scoring a 20-block ride from another stranger and grabbing breakfast before making it to the office a little bit early. Now the strike is over. The Transit Workers don't have a new contract, but we'll have full service by tomorrow morning, when I'll already be basking in the icy goodness of the Midwest. Farewell, Transit Strike, I barely knew ye. But you were a bitch, anyhow.