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As usual, I wandered.
In this case, I wandered onto the F train car which happened to be owned by Bose. Or so it seemed. Judging from the many Granny Smith-colored advertisements lining the dirty walls, Bose had, at the very least, been here. New standards, lifelike sounds, images of attractive young men and women staring off into deepest space, apparently seduced into some euphoric music coma. What are they looking at? What beauties lie beyond the boundaries of these Granny Smith ads — Herds of wild bison tip-toeing across Yosemite?; The secret to the art of…
Alright, so I was wandering, but now it was time to give John a call. The plan was for him to pick me up and drive me over to the Brooklyn Navy Yard where DeVore Fidelity lives.
"Good morning, John. This is Stephen. How are you?"
"I'm good. How are you?"
"Very well. It's a gorgeous day. I've just been wandering around for a bit, admiring this place."
"Oh, you're in DUMBO?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, I'll be over in a few minutes to pick you up."
"Great. I'll be right outside of Pedro's Spanish American Restaurant."
"The…
Not bad for three minutes.