I saw my friend Pam and my old film prof Richard yesterday, and we had drinks at the Globe.
I walked Pam to her car, heading past the old offices for The Red & Black, where I toiled as a student reporter. And, upon seeing them, I promptly threw a vocal, hand-wringing fit.
They've turned the old front offices and production area - complete with the now painted-over wall of blood - into a PITA PIT restaurant with bright pastel walls and painted google-eyed chicken cariacatures.
So Pam stood next to me, as I took in the travesty.
And I was shouting, "OH MY GOD ... OH MY GOD ... THERE'S A BUG-EYED CHICKEN ON THE WALL!"
The staff was watching me through the windows, confused looks on their faces.
The only thing still there is the bank vault, and I fear it's right next to the place where customers deposit their used trays of food.
It was wrong, wrong, wrong. If they were going to change that place, they should've waited respectfully until I was dead.
Pam tried to tell me that everything changes, that you just have to accept it.
It was like someone had turned my childhood home into a Starbucks.
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