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This year's collection of traveling viruses has been a lot nastier than usual, at least from my point of [a-CHOO!] view: the first one caught me in the waning days of January, and one or another has been tormenting me ever since. Of course, I'm hardly the only one affected, which means that 42nd and Treadmill is just reeking of microorganisms and whatnot, which means that we're all basically swimming our way across a veritable Petri dish of germs (or, as they say in Brooklyn, "joims").

The frustration sets in when you realize that nothing can be done about it; even if you quarantined every last one of us, those opportunistic little nanobastards would still find their way in and wreak their various forms of havoc.