New Yorkers: Casting the First Stone

We spent the Fourth at the St. Lawrence River. Running along the road (a two-lane highway), a car came towards me and I thought, “Ack! These New Yorkers, up for the weekend!”

Imagine my distress to realize that, in fact, we had become that worse thing: folks up from the City with New Jersey plates!

But how did I know they were New Yorkers? Figuring this out got me up a big (to me hill) and through much of my 3 mile run (a good thing, as I’m running, so I’m told, a 5K race on Sunday): When I late model American sedan in navy, black or white (black interior, of course) drives toward me and I can see inside a dark-haired woman in her forties with shoulder-length locks and a straw hat in the passenger seat and a man with short hair (perhaps a white baseball cap with a navy brim) and a collared shirt (polo or sport shirt), I know they’re New Yorkers getting away for the weekend.