Harvey wanted me to do a follow-up on the deputy-comptroller scandal for the metro-print edition, but, let's face it-
no one's gonna read this.
Why should I spend the last two-and-a-half hours of the week scrambling to get a new angle on a story that's already been beaten to death?
If there still was a fresh angle, do you think it'd be hanging around City Hall on a Friday afternoon?
The theoretical smoking gun would already be golfing in the Hamptons for the weekend.
I suppose I could try to call the comptroller's secretary again, but what good will that do?
Fine- I'll try again.
She just called me a "weasley bitch."
For following up a story I could care less about.
I don't have to take that.
I'm calling back.
Now I've burned another
bridge in City Hall.
It doesn't matter.
The print newspaper business is dead.
No one will scurry around in the rain tomorrow morning to get a copy of the metro edition.
Someone might hold it up on the subway to avoid making eye contact.
If they're dumb enough to upload this to the online edition, a Madison Avenue prick might skim the headlines on his iPad.
But no one's really reading this.
Maybe some old man who's been reading the morning paper for 75 years.
You know what-
Shitty haberdashers suck ne'er-do-well cock.
That was for you, old-timer.
Who cares if they get why you're cackling with delight in the corner of the commisary.
It'll be between us.
Because we matter, if only to each other.
I know that when you go, you're taking this industry with you.