Lunch Hour

Grand Central Terminal food court, Thursday 1pm

Woman 1: And the way she plays like she's this supreme cooler-than-everybody New Yorker! Always wearing those severe black outfits. Please. I just want to kill her.

Woman 2: Not to mention those dorky giant glasses. And always going on and on about hanging out with some "cool" band nobody's ever heard of.

Woman 1: You know she's from Texas, right? Not cool.

Woman 2: Right! You know she goes home at night and puts on her Garanimals jammies and dances around to Air Supply.

The rest of their meal is spent ripping apart the editor of WWD.