Your mama don’t breakdance
There are days when you forget you’re a Formerly, and then–wham!–out of nowhere, someone breakdances into your life to remind you.
I was on the northbound B train this evening, on my way from work to meet up with my husband, and three little kids with a tagged-up boom box got on at 34th Street. They were wearing track pants and do-rags and were preternaturally nonchalant for 8 or 10-year-olds. (more…)
