Today in Co-Inky-Dinks:

This weekend I went to swim in some watering holes (real ones, not bars) in Connecticut with my good friends Pete and Stacey. I know P and S from LIC from my days as a grumpy bartender who would close the bar promptly at 2am every night. Pete used to work in the 'hood in a big warehouse by the G train where he built props for a theater company, and so I got to know him when he came in for lunch and few beers. They were good day shifts.

Sadly, last year the shop was relocated into the gritty city and so I stopped seeing Pete during the day. I did learn that the last thing his boss did in LIC before they left our borough for good was to spray paint "Pete Loves Penis" on the side of the dumpster they'd filled with broken props.

Well, what dumpster do you suppose we came across as we drove down 38th St past Astoria Blvd. last Sunday?

Thats right:



If that doesn't prove the existence of God, I really don't know what does.