NY Salad.

While folding laundry, I struck up discourse with the denizens in the back room. The lampshade shadows are shifty but they don't miss much; and, once the temperature hits sixty-four, the radiator pipes start to squeal and gossip like little girls. So I turned up the heat and decided to address domestic matters--notably defense plans for whatever has taken to writhing around in the midroom walls. I suggested a potential loose plaster problem. The pipes disagreed and(claiming more intimate knowledge of apartment viscera) chattered on about dust serpents. The shadows dropped dark eyes and whistled which I took to indicate something worse. Of course, all attempts at strategy eventually lost themselves along more conversational routes--from questions regarding the seasonal Livingston ban on chocolate chip cookies, to the Tube Sock Currency Issue, to philosophies on why the buoyant mushroom is really the most congenial of all foods. More pressing matters of hearth and home.