It’s always there. And it continues to be there even though I don’t want it to be. Every weekday morning, whether it’s 6:40am or 7:15am, when I am getting out of the 42nd street/Times Square stop along the yellow lines to go to the gym before work, I’m thinking about the workout ahead of me and how productive I’m going to during the day given how early I’ve woken up. And then at the same corner, no fail, that smell wafts towards me — the strong, unmistakable smell of fresh, crisp, fatty bacon, the scent lingering in the air around a tiny food cart set up just a block from the subway station.

I always scowl every time I start smelling that delicious smell. It’s such a tease. It’s like a reminder that yes, I came on an empty stomach to the gym, and no, I did not get to eat any fatty bacon before I got there. No fatty bacon for me — just a healthy workout awaits!

Why can’t the guy who runs that cart realize that he’s parked the freaking cart just across the street from the gym where all of us are just trying to do the right, healthy thing to start their day, and all he is doing is creating a distraction?!