I had to go to work today. I had a bunch of projects that I couldn't quite nail down all week, so I came in on a Sunday. Blech. It is, I must admit, kind of nice to be in that part of midtown on the weekend, the avenues are full of tourists but the streets are completely vacant. I went to the diner to get a coffee and an egg sammich and shared a little conspiratorial moment with the guy at the counter. I see him all the time. He knows how I take my coffee and he calls me "my friend" instead of "boss" (far as I can tell his world of customers consists of three people. "my friend" "boss" and "Miss"). During the week he is a madman, a frenetic blur whipping open paper bags, sugaring coffee and answering the phone but today he was sitting on a stool behind the counter with his feet up calmly eating a piece of pie. I am pretty sure he works 7 days a week, 365 days a year from 7 am to 7 PM and theres me grumbling about coming in to work for 5-6 hours on a Sunday. Wuss, thy name is me. Anyway, outside the deli I was on 53rd just a little ways past Madison and, sitting on 53rd, in the street a few feet from the curb, with no one around it, was a little teapot. Short and stout. Curious, I walked over and picked it up. It was a perfectly normal china teapot with a bit of fresh tea in the bottom. It was still warm. It even still had its top on it. I looked around and waited for a few minutes. No little old ladies toddled over to thank me for rescuing their wayward teapot. Allen Funt did not pop out and say "smile! YOU are on candid camera". No one even yelled "Drop that teapot, motherfucker!". It had been abandoned. Completely. Mysteriously. I poured out what was left of the tea (No, I did not drink the mystery tea. I didn't think of it until it was too late. It takes me a while to learn this sort of lesson, apparently.) and put it in my bag. When I got home from work I scrubbedy scrub scrubbed it but no genie appeared. I made my wishes anyway. I will let you know if they continue to come true.